Classic Poem

Ye wing'd Confectioners; why Thyme and Roses,
The Sweets the vernal Violet discloses
Why suck ye, or the breath of flowry Dill?
Come, at my Mistresse Lips your soft Bags fill:
Thym, and the Scent of Roses they produce,
The vernal Violets Nectarean Juice:
The blooming Dills sweet Breath far off they spred,
They're steept in the true Tears Narcissus shed,
And bath'd in Hyacinthus fragrant Blood,
Such, as when falling in a mixed flood
Of heav'nly Nectar; whilst the blended showre
Rais'd from the Earth a party-colour'd flowre.
 But when I come to taste these Joyes with you,
Do not, ungrateful! drive me from my Due,
Nor greedy with your store stretch every Hive
Lest of all sweetness you her Lips deprive
And in her next (insipid) Kisses, I
Finde the reward of my Discovery.
Nor wound her soft Lips with your little Darts,
Wounds far more deadly her bright Eye imparts:
Believ't, your wrongs will never pass forgot;
Suck Honey gently thence but sting her not.