| |
| SINCE now my Silvia is as kind as fair, | |
| Let wit and joy succeed my dull despair. | |
| O what a night of pleasure was the last! | |
| A full reward for all my troubles past; | |
| And on my head if future mischiefs fall, | 5 |
| This happy night shall make amends for all. | |
| Nay, tho’ my Silvia’s love should turn to hate, | |
| I’ll think of this, and die contented with my fate. | |
| Twelve was the lucky minute when we met, | |
| And on her bed we close together set; | 10 |
| Tho’ listening spies might be perhaps too near, | |
| Love filled our hearts; there was no room for fear, | |
| Now, whilst I strive her melting heart to move; | |
| With all the powerful eloquence of love; | |
| In her fair face I saw the color rise, | 15 |
| And an unusual softness in her eyes; | |
| Gently they look, I with joy adore, | |
| That only charm they never had before. | |
| The wounds they made, her tongue was used to heal, | |
| But now these gentle enemies reveal | 20 |
| A secret, which that friend would still conceal. | |
| My eyes transported too with amorous rage, | |
| Seem fierce with expectation to engage; | |
| But fast she holds my hands, and close her thighs, | |
| And what she longs to do, with frowns denies. | 25 |
| A strange effect on foolish women wrought, | |
| Bred in disguises, and by custom taught: | |
| Custom, that prudence sometimes overrules, | |
| But serves instead of reason to the Fools! | |
| Custom, which all the world to slavery brings, | 30 |
| The dull excuse for doing silly things. | |
| She, by this method of her foolish sex, | |
| Is forced awhile me and herself to vex: | |
| But now, when thus we had been struggling long, | |
| Her limbs grow weak, and her desires grow strong; | 35 |
| How can she hold to let the hero in? | |
| He storms without, and love betrays within. | |
| Her hands at last, to hide her blushes, leave | |
| The Fort unguarded, willing to receive | |
| My fierce assault made with a lover’s haste, | 40 |
| Like lightning piercing and as quickly past. | |
| Thus does fond nature with her children play; | |
| Just shows us joy, then snatches it away. | |
| ’Tis not the excess of pleasure makes it short, | |
| The pain of love’s as raging as the sport; | 45 |
| And yet, alas! that lasts: we sigh all night | |
| With grief; but scarce one moment with delight. | |
| Some little pain may check her kind desire, | |
| But not enough to make her once retire. | |
| Maids wounds for pleasure bear, as men for praise; | 50 |
| Here honor heals, there love the smart allays. | |
| The world, if just, would harmful courage blame, | |
| And this more innocent reward with fame. | |
| Now she her well-contented thoughts employs | |
| On her past fears, and on her future joys: | 55 |
| Whose harbinger did roughly all remove, | |
| To make fit room for great, luxurious love. | |
| Fond of the welcome guest, her arms embrace | |
| My body, and her hands another place: | |
| Which with one touch so pleased and proud doth grow, | 60 |
| It swells beyond the grasp that made it so: | |
| Confinement scorns, in any straiter walls | |
| Than those of love, where it contented falls. | |
| Tho’ twice o’erthrown, he more enflamed does rise, | |
| And will, to the last drop, fight out the prize. | 65 |
| She like some Amazon in story proves, | |
| That overcomes the hero whom she loves. | |
| In the close strife she takes so much delight, | |
| She then can think of nothing but the fight: | |
| With joy she lays him panting at her feet, | 70 |
| But with more joy does his recovery meet. | |
| Her trembling hands first gently raise his head: | |
| She almost dies for fear that he is dead: | |
| Then binds his wounds up with her busy hand, | |
| And with that balm enables him to stand, | 75 |
| ’Til by her eyes she conquers him once more, | |
| And wounds him deeper than she did before. | |
| Tho’ fallen from the top of Pleasure’s Hill, | |
| With longing eyes we look up thither still; | |
| Still thither our unwearyed wishes tend, | 80 |
| ’Til we that height of happiness ascend | |
| By gentle steps: the ascent itself exceeds | |
| All joys, but that alone to which it leads: | |
| First then, so long and lovingly we kiss, | |
| As if, like doves, we knew no dearer bliss. | 85 |
| Still in one mouth our tongues together play, | |
| While groping hands are pleased no less than they. | |
| Thus clinged together, now a while we rest, | |
| Breathing our souls into each other’s breast; | |
| Then give a general kiss of all our parts, | 90 |
| While this way we make exchange of hearts. | |
| Here, would my praise, as well as pleasure, dwell: | |
| Enjoyment’s self I scarcely like so well: | |
| The little Kiss comes short of rage and strength, | |
| So largely recompensed with endless length. | 95 |
| This is a joy would last, if we could stay: | |
| But love’s too eager to admit delay, | |
| And hurries us along so smooth a way. | |
| Now, wanton with delight, we nimbly move | |
| Our pliant limbs, in all the shapes of love; | 100 |
| Our motion not like those of gamesome fools, | |
| Whose active bodies show their heavy souls: | |
| But sports of love, in which a willing mind | |
| Make us as able as our hearts are kind: | |
| At length, all languishing, and out of breath, | 105 |
| Panting, as in the agonies of death, | |
| We lie entranced, ’til one provoking kiss | |
| Transports our ravished souls to Paradise. | |
| O Heaven of Love! thou moment of delight! | |
| Wronged by my words, my fancy does thee right. | 110 |
| Methinks I lie all melting in her charms, | |
| And fast locked up within her legs and arms; | |
| Bent on our minds, and all our thoughts on fire, | |
| Just laboring in the pangs of fierce desire. | |
| At once, like misers, wallowing in their store, | 115 |
| In full possession; yet desiring more. | |
| Thus with repeated pleasures, while we waste | |
| Our happy hours that like short minutes past, | |
| To such a sum of bliss our joys amount, | |
| The number now becomes too great to count. | 120 |
| Silent, as night, are all sincerest joys, | |
| Like deepest waters running with least noise. | |
| But now, at last, for want of further force, | |
| From deeds alas; we fall into discourse; | |
| A Fall, which each of us in rain bemoans; | 125 |
| A greater Fall than that of kings from thrones. | |
| The tide of pleasure flowing now no more, | |
| We lie like fish left gasping on the shore; | |
| And now, as after fighting, wounds appear, | |
| Which we in heat did neither feel, nor fear: | 130 |
| She, for her sake, entreats me to give o’er, | |
| And yet for mine would gladly suffer more. | |
| Her words are coy, while all her motions woo, | |
| And, when she asks me, if it please me too, | |
| I rage to show how well, but ’twill not do. | 135 |
| Thus would hot love run itself out of breath, | |
| And wanting rest, find it too soon in death; | |
| Did not wise nature with a gentle force, | |
| Restrain its rage, and stop its headlong course: | |
| Indulgently severe, she well does spare | 140 |
| This child of hers, that most deserves her care. | |
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