Classic Poem

Cease, Phryne , cease, leave off thy Charms,
Leave the circling of thine arms.
Each circle is a Magick spell,
Would Devils raise in flesh to dwell.
Who's passionate with wanton love,
Unto himself a hell doth prove.
By passions, Poets furies meant;
Their snakes were sins, which men torment.
Mischief with mischief's tangled in;
The twines of snakes are wayes of sin.
Their skins are gay, but tails lodge stings;
Thus are the pleasures Venus brings.
These kisse like Judas , and betray;
And Crocodile-like, both weep and slay.
Thus Teile trees yield a pleasing shade,
But of their fruit's a poison made:
Or Sodoms Apples, th' fruits of sin,
Are fair without, and foul within.
To fish for Souls, Lust's hells gilt bait,
On which a sharper hook doth wait.
Murder with Fornication twins;
Murder ends, what Lust begins.
The spurious issues of base wombs,
Where they have life receive their tombs.
Lust from the best things venom makes;
As th' Spider from th' best herbs it takes.
Ensigns of peace translates to wars,
Where Souls have wounds, and Honour scars.
Her mouth streams honey, heart hath gall:
Lust's sweets are thus embitter'd all.
When lustful Amorists fires do name,
Sure they anticipate here hells flame.

Who sin in's breast, a Devil keeps therein;
But Magd'len like they sev'n lodge, lodge this sin.
Where Lust doth enter it the strong man bindes;
It makes a Sampson weak, and so him blindes.
Here hairs are lesse then sins, lust takes the hair
As it did Sampsons , but the sin leaves there.
In th' act of sin the tumid members tell
Lust is a venom, which can make them swell.