How happy, Chloris, were they free, Might our enjoyments prove, But you with formal jealousy Are still tormenting love. Let us, since wit instructs us how, Raise pleasure to the top: If rival bottle you'll allow, I'll suffer rival fop. There's not a brisk, insipid spark That flutters in the town, But with your wanton eyes you mark The coxcomb for your own. You never think it worth your care How empty nor how dull The heads of your admirers are, So that their cods be full. All this you freely may confess, Yet we'll not disagree, For did you love your pleasure less, You were not fit for me. While I, my passion to pursue, Am whole nights taking in The lusty juice of grapes, take you The lusty juice of men. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIANCA AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE PAUPER'S DRIVE by THOMAS NOEL FAIRYLAND (1) by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE SURPRISE AT TICONDEROGA [MAY 10, 1775] by MARY ANNA PHINNEY STANSBURY THE COW by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 12. ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS IN COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE |