SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS.
Now gentle Sleep hath closèd up those eyes
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal,
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss;
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,
Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss:
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I would do so;
Why then should I this robbery delay?
Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
Well, if she do, I’ll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.
George Wither.
