And yet he fears he doth but dreaming find
So rich content and such celestial bliss;
Yet when he proves and finds her wondrous kind,
Yielding soft touch for touch, sweet kiss for kiss,
He’s well assured no fair imagery
Could yield such pleasing love’s felicity.
O wonder not to hear me thus relate,
And say to flesh transformèd was a stone!
Had I my love in such a wishèd state
As was afforded to Pygmalion, 190
Though flinty-hard, of her you soon should see
As strange a transformation wrought by me.
And now methinks some wanton itching ear,
With lustful thoughts and ill attention,
Lists to my muse, expecting for to hear
The amorous description of that action
Which Venus seeks, and ever doth require,
When fitness grants a place to please desire.
Let him conceit but what himself would do
When that he had obtainèd such a favour 200
Of her to whom his thoughts were bound unto,
If she, in recompence of his love’s labour,
Would deign to let one pair of sheets contain
The willing bodies of those loving twain.
Could he, O could he! when that each to either
Did yield kind kissing and more kind embracing—
Could he when that they felt and clipp’d together,
And might enjoy the life of dallying—
Could he abstain midst such a wanton sporting,
From doing that which is not fit reporting? 210
What would he do when that her softest skin
Saluted his with a delightful kiss;
When all things fit for love’s sweet pleasuring
Invited him to reap a lover’s bliss?
What he would do, the self-same action
Was not neglected by Pygmalion.
For when he found that life had took his seat
Within the breast of his kind beauteous love—
When that he found that warmth and wishèd heat
Which might a saint and coldest spirit move— 220
Then arms, eyes, hands, tongue, lips, and wanton thigh,
Were willing agents in love’s luxury!
Who knows not what ensues? O pardon me!
Ye gaping ears that swallow up my lines,
Expect no more: peace, idle poesy,
Be not obscene though wanton in thy rhymes;
And, chaster thoughts, pardon if I do trip,
Or if some loose lines from my pen do slip.
Let this suffice, that that same happy night,
So gracious were the gods of marriage, 230
Midst all their pleasing and long-wish’d delight
Paphus was got; of whom in after age
Cy[p]rus was Paphos call’d, and evermore
Those islanders do Venus’ name adore.