T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Doris
By William Congreve (16701729)(A Song, c. 1700) DORIS, a nymph of riper age, | |
Has every grace and art; | |
A wise observer to engage, | |
Or wound a heedless heart. | |
Of native blush and rosy dye | 5 |
Time has her cheek bereft; | |
Which makes the prudent nymph supply, | |
With paint, the injurious theft. | |
Her sparkling eyes she still retains, | |
And teeth in good repair; | 10 |
And her well-furnish’d front disdains | |
To grace with borrow’d hair. | |
Of size, she is nor short nor tall, | |
And does to fat incline | |
No more than what the French would call | 15 |
Aimable embonpoint. | |
Farther her person to disclose | |
I leave—let it suffice, | |
She has few faults, but what she knows, | |
And can with skill disguise. | 20 |
She many lovers has refused, | |
With many more complied | |
Which, like her clothes, when little used, | |
She always lays aside. | |
She’s one who looks with great contempt | 25 |
On each affected creature, | |
Whose nicety would seem exempt | |
From appetites of nature. | |
She thinks they want or health or sense, | |
Who want an inclination; | 30 |
And therefore never takes offence | |
At him who pleads his passion. | |
Whom she refuses, she treats still | |
With so much sweet behaviour, | |
That her refusal, through her skill | 35 |
Looks almost like a favour. | |
Since she this softness can express | |
To those whom she rejects, | |
She must be very fond, you’ll guess, | |
Of such whom she affects. | 40 |
But here our Doris far outgoes | |
All that her sex have done; | |
She no regard for custom knows, | |
Which reason bids her shun. | |
By reason, her own reason’s meant, | 45 |
Or, if you please, her will; | |
For when this last is discontent, | |
The first is served but ill. | |
Peculiar, therefore, is her way; | |
Whether by nature taught, | 50 |
I shall not undertake to say, | |
Or by experience bought. | |
But who o’er night obtain’d her grace, | |
She can next day disown; | |
And stare upon the strange man’s face, | 55 |
As one she ne’er had known. | |
So well she can the truth disguise, | |
Such artful wonder frame, | |
The lover or distrusts his eyes, | |
Or thinks ’twas all a dream. | 60 |
Some censure this as lewd and low, | |
Who are to bounty blind; | |
For to forget what we bestow, | |
Bespeaks a noble mind. | |
Doris our thanks nor asks her needs, | 65 |
For all her favours done: | |
From her love flows, as light proceeds | |
Spontaneous from the sun. | |
On one or other still her fires | |
Display their genial force, | 70 |
And she, like Sol, alone retires, | |
To shine elsewhere of course. | |