 | Poems upon several Occasions |  |
The WOUND.
How faithless is Love's wand'ring Fire,
That with false Light misleads Desire!
It is a self-consuming Joy,
That its own Being does destroy:
The heedless Youth to Rage inclines,
And renders vain what he designs.
That with false Light misleads Desire!
It is a self-consuming Joy,
That its own Being does destroy:
The heedless Youth to Rage inclines,
And renders vain what he designs.
Thus I unwarily survey'd
The tempting, soft, bewitching Maid;
My Lips with shooting Passion bound,
And every Kiss indents a Wound.
The tempting, soft, bewitching Maid;
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And every Kiss indents a Wound.
Our Laws respectfully provide
Against the bold Offender's Pride,
That strikes in Courts, where awful Kings reside.
Dismember'd there they meet Disgrace,
For daring to prophane the Place;
What Punishment must then pursue!
What Vengeance to my Crime be due!
Since I with Blood her Breast cou'd stain,
Where Cytherea and her Train
Revel in Pleasures, and triumphant Reign;
Her heav'nly Breast, the bless'd Abode
Of ev'ry wanton, smiling God.
Against the bold Offender's Pride,
That strikes in Courts, where awful Kings reside.
Dismember'd there they meet Disgrace,
For daring to prophane the Place;
What Punishment must then pursue!
What Vengeance to my Crime be due!
Since I with Blood her Breast cou'd stain,
Where Cytherea and her Train
Revel in Pleasures, and triumphant Reign;
Her heav'nly Breast, the bless'd Abode
Of ev'ry wanton, smiling God.
Ah wretched Heart, did you but know
What Goddess you have made your Foe!
You'd tremble, sure, the Mark to be
Of that avenging Deity,
Whose Thunder pointed at thy Head,
But waits Command to strike thee dead.
What Goddess you have made your Foe!
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Of that avenging Deity,
Whose Thunder pointed at thy Head,
But waits Command to strike thee dead.
Not the bright Shield of Thetis Son,
With which Troy's ancient Walls were won,
For Vict'ry form'd by Hands Divine,
Did with such Conqu'ring Glories shine,
E're made so many Heroes yield,
Or, like those Eyes, maintain'd the Field.
With which Troy's ancient Walls were won,
For Vict'ry form'd by Hands Divine,
Did with such Conqu'ring Glories shine,
E're made so many Heroes yield,
Or, like those Eyes, maintain'd the Field.
Dismiss your Frowns, least Innocence
And Beauty grieve for my Offence.
Shou'd Heav'n with Tempests charge its Brow
For each Impiety below,
Those Golden Lamps no more wou'd burn,
But all in Clouds and Darkness mourn.
And Beauty grieve for my Offence.
Shou'd Heav'n with Tempests charge its Brow
For each Impiety below,
Those Golden Lamps no more wou'd burn,
But all in Clouds and Darkness mourn.
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By all the Purple Wounds you bear,
And O believe when thus I swear,
Believe me, (for by Heav'n 'tis true,)
My Thoughts were far from inj'ring You;
Witness Love's Queen, and Thou, who art
The greater Goddess of my Heart,
And those Dear Eyes, which far above
My own I prize, my own I love.
And O believe when thus I swear,
Believe me, (for by Heav'n 'tis true,)
My Thoughts were far from inj'ring You;
Witness Love's Queen, and Thou, who art
The greater Goddess of my Heart,
And those Dear Eyes, which far above
My own I prize, my own I love.
Soon as your snowy Breasts all bare
To my transported Eyes appear,
Your Breasts, whose kindly Clusters shine
Round, plump, and big with juicy Wine,
Ripe as the Grapes that load the Autumn Vine;
Drunk with their Beauty's Wine, I rave
To see 'em tremble, pant, and heave.
And, stung with Extasy, impress'd
The bleeding Wound upon your Breast,
From whence shou'd stream a milky Food
To feed the Boy, Love's Infant God,
He'll grow a Tyrant now H''as tasted Blood.
To my transported Eyes appear,
Your Breasts, whose kindly Clusters shine
Round, plump, and big with juicy Wine,
Ripe as the Grapes that load the Autumn Vine;
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To see 'em tremble, pant, and heave.
And, stung with Extasy, impress'd
The bleeding Wound upon your Breast,
From whence shou'd stream a milky Food
To feed the Boy, Love's Infant God,
He'll grow a Tyrant now H''as tasted Blood.
Since my Offence was Love's Excess,
Let Love the Faults of Love redress:
If that will not your Wrath appease,
Ordain for Me what Pains You please;
The most tormenting Punishment,
That injur'd Maid cou'd e're invent;
For I with Pleasure can sustain
A Thousand Deaths, to ease your Pain.
Let Love the Faults of Love redress:
If that will not your Wrath appease,
Ordain for Me what Pains You please;
The most tormenting Punishment,
That injur'd Maid cou'd e're invent;
For I with Pleasure can sustain
A Thousand Deaths, to ease your Pain.
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Alas! who can his Crimes avert,
When Love predestinates the Heart!
'Twas your proud Form that did inspire
My Breast with this resistless Fire;
Your Tyrant Beauty my wild Passion wrought,
And I but practis'd, what your Eyes first taught.
When Love predestinates the Heart!
'Twas your proud Form that did inspire
My Breast with this resistless Fire;
Your Tyrant Beauty my wild Passion wrought,
And I but practis'd, what your Eyes first taught.
| Poems upon several Occasions | |