Classic Poem

The Argument

The Boyes short wish, her larger grant ,
That doth his soule with blisse enchant:
Whereof impatient uttering all,
Inraged Jove contrives his thrall .

1

Thy crafty arte (reply'd the smiling Queene)
Hath well my chiding, and [h]ot rage prevented,
Yet might'st thou thinke, that yet 'twas never seene,
That angry rage, and gentle love consented:
But if to me thy true love is presented,
 What wages for thy service must I owe thee?
 For by the selfe same vow, I here avow thee,
 What ever thou require, I frankly will allow thee.

2

Pardon (replies the Boy) for so affecting,
Beyond mortallity; and not discarding,
Thy service was much more than my expecting;
But if thou (more thy bounty-hood regarding)
Wilt needes heape up reward upon rewarding;
 Thy love I dare not aske, or mutuall fi[r]ing,
 One kisse is all my love, and prides aspiring,
 And after starve my heart, for my too much desiring.

3

Fond Boy! (sayd she) too fond that askt no more;
Thy want by taking is no whit decreased,
And giving, spends not our increasing store:
Thus with a kisse, his lips she sweetly pressed;
Most blessed kisse; but hope more than most blessed,
 The Boy did thinke heaven fell while thus he joy'd;
 And while joy he so greedily enjoy'd,
 He felt not halfe his joy by being over-joy'd.

4

Why sighst faire Boy? (sayd she) dost thou repent thee
Thy narrow wish in such straight bonds to stay?
Well may I sigh (sayd he) and well lament me,
That never such a debt may hope to pay:
A kisse (sayd she) a kisse will backe repay:
 Wilt thou (reply'd the Boy too much delighted)
 Content thee, with such pay to be requited?
 She grants; & he his lips, heart, soule, to payment cited.

5

Looke as a Ward, long from his Lands detain'd,
And subject to his Guardians cruel lore,
Now spends the more, the more he was restrain'd,
So he; yet though in laying out his store,
He doubly takes; yet findes himselfe grow poore:
 With that, he markes, and tels her out a score,
 And doubles them, and trebles all before:
 Fond Boy! the more thou paist, thy debt still grows the more.

6

At length, whether these favours so had fir'd him,
With kindly heate, inflaming his desiring;
Or whether those sweete kisses had inspir'd him;
Hee thinkes that some thing wants for his requiring;
And still aspires, yet knows not his aspiring:
 But yet though that hee knoweth, so she gave,
 That he presents himselfe her bounden slave;
 Stil his more wishing face seem'd some what else to crave.

7

And boldned with successe and many graces,
His hand, chain'd up in feare, he now releast:
And asking leave, courag'd with her imbraces;
Againe it prison'd in her tender breast;
Ah blessed prison! prisners too much blest!
 There with those sisters long time doth he play;
 And now full boldly enters loves high way;
 While downe the pleasant vale, his creeping hand doth stray.

8

She not displeased with this his wanton play,
Hiding his blushing with a sugred kisse;
With such sweete heat his rudenesse doth allay,
That now he perfect knowes what ever blisse,
Elder love taught, and he before did misse:
 That moult with joy, in such untri'd joyes trying,
 He gladly dies; and death new life applying,
 Gladly againe he dyes, that oft he may be dying.

9

Long thus he liv'd, slumbring in sweete delight,
Free from sad care, and fickle worlds annoy;
Bathing in liquid joyes his melted sprite;
And longer mought, but he (ah foolish Boy!)
Too proud, and to impatient of his joy,
 To woods, and heav'n, and earth his blisse imparted;
 That Jove upon him downe his thunder darted,
 Blasting his splendent face, and all his beauty swarted.

10

Such be his chance, that to his love doth wrong,
Unworthy he to have so worthy place,
That cannot hold his peace and blabbing tongue:
Light joyes float on his lips, but rightly grace
Sinckes deepe, and th' hearts low center doth imbrace:
 Might I enjoy my love till I unfold it,
 I'de lose all favours when I blabbing told it:
 He is not fit for love, that is not fit to hold it.