University of Virginia Library

To my pale Pippin

Her cheeks are like her blind cheeks pale
And wan, Her lipps are lick her taile,
Her piteous looks may happily move
Compassion in mee; never love.
Shall I bow down; or kneel to that
That seems to mee inanimate?
So while I to my suite addict her,
I pray with Papists to a Picture,
Doe yee not see how meager death,
Seems through hir Organs to steal breath
And Succubus ha's from the dust
Rear'd her to satiate his lust
Tell mee pale Phebe dont you climbe
Old walls to banquet on the lime?
I know you love such festivalls
Your white-washt cheeks resemble walls.
Say mother pitous, doe you not
For Oatmeal? rob the Porrige-pot
Run you not into privat holes
To break your fast with salt and Coales
I might a thousand knacks repeat,
VVhat could I name but you would eat
In shame whereof your bloud refraines
Your cheeks, And lurks within your veines,
Vntill it bee subpæna'd thence,
By your flagitious conscience.
Nor are you lillie like, but sallow
And sapie-contenanc'd like tallow,
For when your dropping nose you handle,
You seeme to mee to snuffe a candle.
And they that keepe you reape disgrace,
Whilst men read famine on your face.
Natures, besiegd, And all your pores
Obstructed block up her recourse
Whilst in dispaire of life you burne,
For a good husband, or goode turne..
There must bee vent, Tis to noe boot
To talke, you must or dye, or doet.
And should, wee but a while delay you,
You'd cry harke harke for life wee pray you.
You can no such improvement feel
In allume possets or crude steele.
You know your selfe theres nothing can,
Be so aperitive as man.
Who in the sweetest sence is said,
To cure you of your maiden head.
Which should you but a while retaine,
A pessarie would come in vaine.
What neede men care then for such wives,
As Marry but to save their lives?
He must as much (that weddeth thee)
Thy doctor; As thy husband be.
Noe, Ile to Bacchus where being come,
The first attendant shewes a rome.
The next prersents a glanceing lasse,
Like Venus in a venice glasse.
With that I knock, & as some sp'rite
I conjur up pure red and white.
My circles a round table. And
In midst thereof does Hymen stand
With a light tapour. when I call,
To celebrate my nuptiall.
Here doe I a french madam place
And there a sweet-lipt spanish lasse
Here all in white a lady dances.
And there in red an other glances.
And least mine eyes want fresh delight,
Here sets Claretta red & whit.
Nor doe I complement I trow,
But tell them plaine 'tis so and so,
Thy struggle not nor are they coy
But I may what I will enjoy.
No there's no coyle made for a kisse,
Though melting melting, melting blisse.
No shifting from the freindly cup
But I may freely all take up.
And in each face if I so please,
Ile court myne owne effigies.
VVho would not then on this stage act Narcisus,
VVhere lively lipps so sweetly say come kisse us?