Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE IMPERFECT ENJOYMENT, by JOHN WILMOT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE IMPERFECT ENJOYMENT, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms
Last Line: To do the wrong'd corinna right for thee.
Alternate Author Name(s): Rochester, 2d Earl Of
Subject(s): Love - Erotic; Impotence


Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms,
Both equally inspired with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.
With arms, lips, legs close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.
The nimble tongue (love's lesser lightning) played
Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed
Swift orders that I should prepare to throw
The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed kiss,
Hangs hovering o'er her balmy limbs of bliss.
But whilst her busy hand would guide that part
Which should convey my soul up to her heart,
In liquid raptness I dissolve all o'er,
Melting in love, such joys ne'er felt before.
A touch from any part of her had done't,
Her hand, her foot, her very looks had charms upon't.
Smiling, she chides in a soft murmuring noise,
And sighs to feel the too-too hasty joys;
When with a thousand kisses, wand'ring o'er
My panting breast -- and is there then no more?
She cries: All this to love and raptures due,
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?
But I the most forlorn, lost man alive
To show my wish'd obedience vainly strive.
I sign, alas, and kiss, but cannot drive.
Eager desires confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent,
And rage at last confirms me impotent.
Even her fair hands which might bid heat return
To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,
Applied to my dead cinder warms no more
Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.
Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.
This dart of love, whose piercing point oft tried
With virgin blood, a hundred maids has dyed,
Which nature still directed with such art
That it, through every port, reached every heart.
Stiffly resolved, turned careless I invade,
Where it essayed, nor ought its fury stayed,
Where e'er it pierced, entrance it found or made,
Now languid lies, in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sapless, like a withered flower.
Thou treacherous, base, deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my fame,
By what mistaken magic dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?
What oyster, cinder, beggar, common whore,
Didst thou e'er fail in all thy life before?
When vice, disease, and scandal led the way
With what officious haste didst thou obey?
Like a rude-roaring Hector in the streets
That scuffles, cuffs, and ruffles all he meets;
But if his King or country claim his aid
The rascal villain shrinks and hides his head;
E'en so is thy brutal valour displayed,
Breaks every stews, does each small crack invade,
But if great love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy Prince, thou dost not stand.
Worst part of me and henceforth hated most,
Through all the town the common rubbing-post,
On whom each wretch relieves her lustfull want,
As hogs on goats do rub themselves and grunt,
May'st thou to ravenous shankers be a prey,
Or in consuming weepings waste away;
May stranguries and stone thy days attend.
May'st thou not piss who did'st so much offend
When all my joys did on false thee depend.
And may ten thousand abler men agree
To do the wrong'd Corinna right for thee.







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