T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Imperfect Enjoyment
By Sir George Etherege (1635?–1691)| AFTER a pretty amorous discourse, | |
| She does resist my love with pleasing force; | |
| Moved not with anger, but with modesty, | |
| Against her will she is my enemy. | |
| Her eyes the rudeness of her arms excuse, | 5 |
| Whilst those accept what these seem to refuse; | |
| To ease my passion and to make me blest | |
| The obliging smock falls from her whiter breast. | |
| Then with her lovely hands she does conceal | |
| Those wonders chance so kindly did reveal. | 10 |
| In vain, alas! her nimble fingers strove | |
| To shield her beauties from my greedy love: | |
| Guarding her breasts, her lips she did expose, | |
| To save a lily she must lose a rose. | |
| So many charms she has in every place, | 15 |
| A hundred hands cannot defend each grace. | |
| Sighing at length her force she does recall, | |
| For since I must have part she’ll give me all. | |
| Her arms the joyful conqueror embrace, | |
| And seem to guide me to the sought-for place: | 20 |
| Her love is in her sparkling eyes express’d, | |
| She falls o’ the bed for pleasure more than rest. | |
| But oh, strange passion! oh, abortive joy! | |
| My zeal does my devotion quite destroy: | |
| Come to the temple where I should adore | 25 |
| My saint, I worship at the sacred door; | |
| Oh, cruel chance! the town which did oppose | |
| My strength so long, now yields to my dispose; | |
| When overjoy’d with victory I fall | |
| Dead at the foot of the surrender’d wall, | 30 |
| Without the usual ceremony, we | |
| Have both fulfilled the amorous mystery; | |
| The action which we should have jointly done, | |
| Each has unluckily perform’d alone; | |
| The union which our bodies should enjoy, | 35 |
| The union of our eager souls destroy. | |
| Our flames are punish’d by their own excess, | |
| We’d had more pleasure had our loves been less. | |
| She blush’d and frown’d, perceiving we had done | |
| The sport she thought we scarce had yet begun. | 40 |
| Alas, said I, condemn yourself, not me, | |
| This is th’ effect of too much modesty. | |
| Hence with that peevish virtue, the delight | |
| Of both our victories was lost i’ the fight; | |
| Yet from my shame your glory does arise, | 45 |
| My weakness proves the vigour of your eyes: | |
| They did consume the victim ere it came | |
| Unto the altar, with a purer flame: | |
| Phyllis, let then this comfort ease your care, | |
| You’d been more happy had you been less fair. | 50 |