She lay all naked in her bed,
And I myself lay by;
No veil but curtains about her spread,
No covering but I:
Her head upon her shoulders seeks
To hang in careless wise,
And full of blushes was her cheeks,
And of wishes were her eyes.
Her blood still fresh into her face,
As on a message came,
To say that in another place
It meant another game;
Her cherry lip moist, plump, and fair,
Millions of kisses crown,
Which ripe and uncropped dangle there,
And weigh the branches down.
Her breasts, that welled so plump and high
Bred pleasant pain in me,
For all the world I do defy
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 unforced asunder;
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,
Expecting in her bower;
When too long stay had kept the boy
Beyond his promised 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
Throw my arms about her,
But pox upon’t ’twas but a dream.
And so I lay without her.