'Tis too long to stay 'till it's undone;
Let thy Wast be unlac'd, and in hast be embrac'd,
For I long to make bold with my own.
As thou art fair, and sweeter than the Air,
That dallies on July's brave Roses;
Now let me be to thy Garden a Key,
That the Flowers of Virgins incloses:
And I will not be too rough unto thee,
For my Nature to mildness is prone;
Do no less than undress, and unlace all apace,