The Imperfect Enjoyment
The Imperfect Enjoyment
Poems on Several Occasions: By the Right Honourable, The E. of R-- (Antwerpen, 1680?): 14-19. John Wilmot, earl of Rochester, Poems on Several Occasions [1680?] (Scolar Press, 1971): 27-30. British Library X.989/13650
1Naked she lay, claspt in my longing Arms,
2I fill'd with Love, and she all over Charms,
3Both equally inspir'd with eager fire,
4Melting through kindness, flaming in desire;
5With Arms, Legs, Lips, close clinging to embrace,
6She clips me to her Breast, and sucks me to her Face.
7The nimble Tongue (Love's lesser Lightning) plaid
8Within my Mouth, and to my thoughts convey'd
9Swift Orders, that I should prepare to throw
10The All dissolving Thunderbolt below.
11My flutt'ring Soul, sprung with the pointed Kiss,
12Hangs hov'ring o're her Balmy Lips of Bliss.
13But whilst her busie hand, wou'd guide that part,
14Which shou'd convey my Soul up to her Heart,
15In Liquid Raptures, I dissolve all o're,
16Melt into Sperm, and spend at every Pore:
17A touch from any part of her had done 't;
18Her Hand, her Foot, her very Look's a Cunt.
19Smiling, she Chides in a kind murm'ring Noise,
20And from her Body wips the Clammy Joys;
21When with a Thousand Kisses, wand'ring o're
22My panting Breast, and is there then no more?
23She cries. All this to Love and Rapture's due
24Must we not pay a Debt to Pleasure too?
25But I the most forlorn, lost Man alive,
26To shew my wisht Obedience vainly strive,
27I Sigh alas! and Kiss, but cannot Swive.
28Eager desire confound my first intent,
29Succeeding shames does more success prevent,
30And Rage at last confirms me Impotent;
31Even her fair Hand, which might bid heat return
32To frozen Age, and make cold Hermits burn;
33Applyed to my dead Cinder warms no more,
34Than Fire to Ashes could past Flames restore:
35Trembling, confus'd, despairing, limber, dry,
36A wishing, weak unmoving Lump I lie;
37This Dart of Love, whose piercing point oft try'd
38With Virgin blood, Ten Thousand Maids has dy'd:
39Which Nature still directed with such Art,
40That it through every Cunt reacht ev'ry Heart.
41Stiffly resolv'd, twou'd carelessly invade
42Woman or Boy, nor ought its fury staid,
43Where e're it pierc'd, a Cunt it found or made.
44Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
45Shrunk up and Sapless, like a wither'd Flower.
46Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,
47False to my Passion, fatal to my Fame;
48By what mistaken Magick dost thou prove,
49So true to Lewdness, so untrue to Love?
50What Oyster, Cinder, Beggar, common Whore,
51Didst thou e're fail in all thy Life before?
52When Vice, Disease and Scandal, lead the way,
53With what officious haste does thou obey:
54Like a Rude roaring Hector in the Streets,
55That Scuffles, Cuffs, and Ruffles all he meets:
56But if his King or Country claim his Aid,
57The Rascal Villain shrinks and hides his Head
58Even so thy Brutal Valor is displaid,
59Breaks every Stew, does each small Whore invade,
60But if great Love, the onset does command,
61Base Recreant, to thy Prince, thou darst not stand.
62Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most, [1680 hatest]
63Through all the Town, the common Fucking Post;
64On whom each Whore, relieves her tingling Cunt,
65As Hogs, on Gates do rub themselves and grunt.
66May'st thou to rav'nous Shankers, be a Prey,
67Or in consuming Weepings waste away.
68May Stranguaries, and Stone, thy Days attend,
69Mayst thou ne're Piss, who didst refuse to spend,
70When all my Joys did on False thee depend.
71And may Ten Thousand abler Pricks agree,
72To do the wrong'd Corinna, right for thee.
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