Her Breasts, that swell'd so plump and high,
Bred pleasant pain in me,
For all the world I do defile
The like felicity;
Her thighs and belly, soft and fair,
To me were only shown:
To have seen such meat, and not to have eat,
Would have angered any stone.
Her knees lay upward gently bent,
And all lay hollow under,
As if on easy terms they meant
To fall unforc'd asunder;
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,
Expecting in her bower;
When too long stay had kept the boy
Beyond his promis'd hour.
"Dull clown," quoth she, "why dost delay
Such proffered bliss to take?
Canst thou find out no other way
Similitudes to make?"
Mad with delight I thundering
Threw my Arms about her,
But pox upon 't 'twas but a dream.
And so I lay without her.
Aldobrandino, a Fat Cardinal
FROM CHOICE DROLLERY, 1656
NEVER was human soul so overgrown,
With an unreasonable Cargazon
Of flesh, as Aldobrandino, whom to pack,
No girdle serv'd less than the zodiac:
So thick a Giant, that he now was come
To be accounted an eighth hill in Rome,
And as the learn'd Tostatus kept his age,
Writing for every day he liv'd a page;
So he no less voluminous than that
Added each day a leaf, but 'twas of fat.
The choicest beauty that had been devised
By Nature was by her parents sacrificed
Up to this Monster, upon whom to try,
If as increase, he could, too, multiply.
Oh, how I tremble lest the tender maid
Should die like a young infant over-laid!
For when this Chaos would pretend to move
And arch his back for the strong act of Love,
He falls as soon o'erthrown with his own weight,
And with his ruins doth the Princess fright.
She lovely Martyr there lies stew'd and pressed,
Like flesh under the tarred saddle dressed,
And seems to those that look on them in bed,
Larded with him, rather than married.
Oft did he cry, but still in vain, to force
His fatness, powerfuller than a divorce;
No herbs, no midwives profit here, nor can
Of his great belly free the teeming man.
What though he drink the vinegars most fine,
They do not waste his fleshy Apennine;
His paunch like some huge Isthmus runs between
The amorous Seas, and lets them not be seen;
Yet a new Dedalus invented how
This Bull with his Pasiphae might plow.
Have you those artificial torments known,
With which long sunken Galeos are thrown
Again on Sea, or the dead Galia
Was rais'd that once behind St. Peters lay:
By the same rules he this time engine made,
With silken cords in nimble pullies laid;
And when his Genius prompteth his slow part
To works of Nature, which he helps with Art:
First he intangles in those woven bands,
His groveling weight, and ready to commands,
The sworn Prinadas of his bed, the Aids
Of Love's Camp, necessary Chambermaids;
Each runs to her known tackling, hastes to hoise,
And in just distance of the urging voice,
Exhorts the labour till he smiling rise
To the bed's roof, and wonders how he flies.
Thence as the eager Falcon having spied
Fowl at the brook, or by the River's side,
Hangs in the middle Region of the air,
So hovers he, and plains above his fair:
Blest Icarus first melted at those beams,
That he might after fall into those streams,
And there allaying his delicious flame,
In that sweet Ocean propagate his name,
Unable longer to delay, he calls
To be let down, and in short measure falls
Toward his Mistress, that without her smock
Lies naked as Andromeda at the Rock,
And through the Skies see her wingèd Perseus strike
Though for his bulk, more that sea-monster like.
Meantime the Nurse, who as the most discreet,
Stood governing the motions at the feet,
And balanc'd his descent, lest that amiss
He fell too fast, or that way more than this;
Steers the Prow of the pensile Galleys,
Right on Love's Harbour the Nymph lets him pass Over the Chains, and 'tween the double Fort
Of her encastled knees, which guard the Port.
The Burs as she had learnt still diligent, Now girt him backwards, now him forwards bent; Like those that levelled in tough Cordage, teach The mural Ram, and guide it to the Breach.
FROM SPORTIVE WIT; THE MUSES' MERRIMENT, 1656
NAY, pish; nay, phew! nay, faith and will you? fie!
A gentleman and use me thus! I'll cry.
Nay, God's body, what means this? Nay, fie for shame,
Nay, faith, away! Nay, fie, you are to blame.
Hark! somebody comes! hands off, I pray!
I'll pinch, I'll scratch, I'll spurn, I'll run away.
Nay, faith, you strive in vain, you shall not speed
You mar my ruff, you hurt my back, I bleed.
Look how the door stands ope, somebody sees!
Your buttons scratch, in faith you hurt my knees.
What will men say? Lord, what a coil is here!
You make me sweat; i' faith, here's goodly gear.
Nay, faith, let me entreat you, if you list;
You mar my clothes, you tear my smock, but, had I wist
So much before, I would have shut you out.
Is it a proper thing you go about?
I did not think you would have used me this,
But now I see I took my aim amiss.
A little thing would make me not be friends:
You've used me well! I hope you'll make amends.
Hold still, I'll wipe your face, you sweat amain:
You have got a goodly thing with all your pain.
Alas! how hot am I! what will you drink?
If you go sweating down what will men think?
Remember, sir, how you have used me now;
Doubtless ere long I will be meet with you.
If any man but you had used me so,
Would I have put it up? in faith, sir, no.
Nay, go not yet; stay here and sup with me,
And then at cards we better shall agree.
BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, 1628-1687
THE transient reason let's improve,
That human life allots to love;
Youth soon, my Cynthia! flies away,
And age assumes its frozen sway;
With elegance and neatness dressed,
Come there, in beauty's bloom confessed,
And in my fond embrace be blest!
Faint strugglings but inflame desire,
And serve to fan the lover's fire;
Then yield not all at once your charms,
But with reluctance fill my arms:
My arms! that shall, with eager haste,
Encircle now your slender waist;
Now round your neck be careless hung,
And now o'er all your frame be flung:
About your limbs my limbs I'll twine,
And lay your glowing cheek to mine:
Close to my broader, manlier chest,
I'll press thy firm, proud-swelling breast,
Now rising high, now falling low,
As passion's tide shall ebb, or flow:
My murmuring tongue shall speak my bliss,
Shall court your yielding lips to kiss;
Each kiss with thousands I'll repay,
And almost suck your breath away:
A thousand more you then shall give,
And then a thousand more receive;
In transport half-dissolved we'll lie,
Venting our wishes in a sigh.
Quick-starting from me, now display
Your loose and discomposed array:
Your hair shall o'er your polished brow,
In sweetly-wild disorder flow,
And those long tresses from behind,
You used in artful braids to bind,
Shall down your snowy bosom spread
Redundant, in a softened shade;
And from your wishful eyes shall stream
The dewy light of passion's flame:
While now and then a look shall glance,
Your senses lost in amorous trance;
That fain my rudeness would remove,
Yet plainly tells how strong you love;
The roses heightened on your cheek,
Shall the fierce tide of rapture speak;
And on your lips a warmer glow
The deepened ruby then shall show:
Your breast, replete with youthful fire,
Shall heave with tumults of desire;
Shall heave at thoughts of wished-for bliss,
Springing as though 'twould meet my kiss:
Down on that heaven I'll sink quite spent,
And lie in tender languishment;
But soon your charms' reviving power,
Shall to my frame new life restore:
With love I'll then my pains assuage,
With kisses cool my wanton rage,
Hang o'er thy beauties till I cloy,
Then cease, and then renew my joy.
"Was Ever Man of Nature's Framing"
BY CHARLES COTTON, 1630-1687
Was ever man of Nature's framing
So given o'er to roving,
Who have been twenty years a-taming
By ways that are not worth the naming,
And now must die of loving?
Hell take me if she ben't so winning
That now I love her mainly!
And though in jest at the beginning,
Yet now I'd wondrous fain be sinning,
And so have told her plainly.
At which she cries I do not love her,
And tells me of her honour;
Then have I no way to disprove her,
And my true passion to discover,
But straight to fall upon her.
Which done, forsooth, she talks of wedding,
But what will that avail her?
For though I am old dog at bedding,
I'm yet a man of so much reading
That there I sure shall fail her.
No, hang me if I ever marry
Till womankind grow stauncher!
I do delight delights to vary,
And love not in one hulk to tarry,
But only trim and launch her.
FROM MERRY DROLLERY (1661) FOL. 2
A PURITAN of late,
And eke a holy Sister,
A Catechizing sate,
And fain he would have kist her
For his Mate.
But she a Babe of grace,
A Child of reformation
Thought kissing a disgrace,
A Limb of profanation
In that place.
He swore by yea and nay
He would have no denial,
The spirit would it so,
She should endure a trial
Ere she go.
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