| T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22. | | | | Sit Down, My Dear Sylvia | | Anonymous |
| | (From Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1719)
|
| | Alexis. | Sit down my dear Sylvia, | |
| And then tell me, tell me true, | |
| When we the fierce pleasure of Passion first knew; | |
| What Senses were charmed, | |
| And what Raptures did dwell, | 5 |
| Within thy fond Heart, my dear Nymph, prithee tell! | |
| That when thy Delights in their fulness are known, | |
| I may have the joy to relate all my own. | |
| |
| Sylvia. | Oh fie, my Alexis! | |
| How dare you propose, | 10 |
| To me, silly Girl, things immodest as those! | |
| Nice Candor and Modesty glow in my Breast, | |
| Whose Virtue can utter no Words so unchaste; | |
| But if your impatience admits no delay, | |
| Describe your own Raptures, | 15 |
| And teach me the way. | |
| |
| Alexis. | A pain mixed with Pleasure my Senses first found, | |
| When crowds of Delight straight my Heart did surround; | |
| A Joy so transporting, I sighed when it was done: | |
| And fain would renew, but alas! all was gone; | 20 |
| Coy nature was treacherous, when first she meant, | |
| A Treasure so precious so soon should be spent. | |
| |
| Sylvia. | This free kind Confession does so much prevail, | |
| That I in your bosom would blush out my Tale; | |
| But Dearest, you know, ’tis too much to declare, | 25 |
| The Joys that our Souls, when united, do share. | |
| Let this then suffice, if the Pleasure could last, | |
| A Saint would leave Heaven, still so to be blest. | | | |
|
|
|
