John Wilson (1595–1674)

GREEDY lover, pause awhile,

And remember that a smile

Heretofore

Would have made thy hopes a feast;

Which is more

Since thy diet was increased,

Than both looks and language too,

Or the face itself, can do.

Such a province is my hand

As, if it thou couldst command

Heretofore,

There thy lips would seem to dwell;

Which is more,

Ever since they sped so well,

Than they can be brought to do

By my neck and bosom too.

If the centre of my breast,

A dominion unpossessed

Heretofore,

May thy wandering thoughts suffice,

Seek no more,

And my heart shall be thy prize:

So thou keep above the line,

All the hemisphere is thine.

If the flames of love were pure

Which by oath thou didst assure

Heretofore,

Gold that goes into the clear

Shines the more

When it leaves again the fire:

Let not then those looks of thine

Blemish what they should refine.

I have cast into the fire

Almost all thou couldst desire

Heretofore;

But I see thou art to crave

More and more.

Should I cast in all I have,

So that I were ne’er so free,

Thou wouldst burn, though not for me.