Kiss IX

Cease thy sweet, thy balmy kisses;
Cease thy many-wreathèd smiles;
Cease thy melting, murmuring blisses;
Cease thy fond, bewitching wiles:

On my bosom soft reclined,
Cease to pour thy tender joys;
Pleasure’s limits are confined,
Pleasure oft repeated cloys.

Sparingly your bounty use;
When I ask for kisses nine,
Seven at least you must refuse,
And let only two be mine;

Yet let these be neither long,
Nor delicious sweets respire,
But like those which virgins young
Artless give their aged sire:

Such as, with a sister’s love,
Beauteous Dian may bestow
On the radiant son of Jove,
Phœbus of the silver bow.

Tripping light with wanton grace,
Now my lips disordered fly,
And in some retired place
Hide thee from my searching eye.

Each recess I’ll traverse o’er
Where I think thou liest concealed;
Every covert I’ll explore,
Till my wanton’s all revealed:

Then, in sportive, amorous play,
Victor-like I’ll seize my love;
Seize thee as the bird of prey
Pounces on a trembling dove.

Captive then, and sore dismayed,
How you’ll fondle, how you’ll plead,
Vainly offering, silly maid,
Seven sweet kisses to be freed!

Not so fast, fair runaway!
Kisses seven times seven be mine!
Chained within these arms you stay
Till I touch the balmy fine.

Paying then the forfeit due,
By your much-loved beauties swear,
Faults like these you’ll still pursue,
Faults which kisses can repair.