University of Virginia Library

Lovely Chloe, Chaste, and Fair,
As Morning Virgin Blushes are,
Love's Goddess, and each smiling Grace
Are drawn in Triumph on your Face:
So, when kind Heav'n descends in Show'rs,
Spring blooms with Sweets, and laughs in Flow'rs.

Ah! Chloe be not so severe,
But grant your Lover's gentle Pray'r,
And O be merciful, as you are fair.
Permit a Wretch, that bleeding lies,
To kiss those sweet, Enchanting Eyes,
Your Eyes, that equal Flames display
To that bright God's, that rules the Day;
Thus whilst rash Pha'ton wou'd approve
His Title to his Father's Love,
He to a Province had Regard
Which was for Gods themselves too hard;
His tow'ring Thoughts did so aspire,
He burnt with such a fierce Desire
As set himself, and all the World on Fire.
And, Chloe, thus, if you consent,
The Grant becomes my Punishment.
Ah! fair Ingrate! and must I mourn
Beneath your Pride, beneath your Scorn?
Can you this small Return refuse
For all th' Applauses of my Muse?
I first did on your Eyes bestow
Those pointed Shafts that wound me so.
Thus when Perillus wou'd engage
The Tyrant, he instructs his Rage:
And so, by his own Art betray'd,
First prov'd the Torments which he made.

Can you my Passion then disclaim?
Or do you wanton with my Flame?
And all these am'rous Arts employ,
But to improve th' approaching Joy?
Or do you thus my Courtship fly,
And, what you covet most, deny;
That you the Pleasure may receive,
Yet with Reluctance seem to give?
But thus unwilling as thou art,
I'll seize on ev'ry charming Part;
My Arms around your Neck will twine,
And press your trembling Lips to mine;
Then to your Eyes I will remove,
And on those Eyes will feast my Love;
Now tho' you struggle and complain,
Deny, and then deny again,
Chide, threaten, weep, and rage, yet all is vain;
I nor your Lips, nor Eyes will spare,
But print a Thousand Kisses there;
Kisses that shall new Flames impart,
Fire all the Blood, and melt your Heart.
Shou'd those fair Hands, form'd to embrace,
Cruelly furrow up my Face,
Insensible of Pain or Fear,
Those Wounds, those am'rous Wounds, I'll bear;
And as you urge the Wounds more deep,
The more they bleed, the more you weep,
My Kisses deeper shall be press't,
I'll hug thee closer to my Breast,
Till I have rifl'd all your Charms,
And you lie breathless in my Arms.
Chloe, if you desire to bless
Your faithful Lover with Success,
Thus still unwilling Force employ,
That I may snatch th' unwilling Joy,
And as I ravish the sweet Prize,
New Joys shall thence, new Pleasures rise.
For riper Fruits with Pains we go
To reach them from some lofty Bough,
While others unregarded hang below:
With Labour we to Noblest Things aspire;
He first scal'd Heav'n, that stole Celestial Fire.