T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
My Days, My Months, My Years
By John Attey (d. 1640)(From First Book of Airs, 1622) |
MY days, my months, my years | |
I spend about a moment’s gain, | |
A joy that in th’ enjoying ends, | |
A fury quickly slain; | |
A frail delight, like that wasp’s life | 5 |
Which now both frisks and flies, | |
And in a moment’s wanton strife | |
It faints, it pants, it dies. | |
And when I charge, my lance in rest, | |
I triumph in delight, | 10 |
And when I have the ring transpierced | |
I languish in despite; | |
Or like one in a lukewarm bath, | |
Light-wounded in a vein, | |
Spurts out the spirits of his life | 15 |
And fainteth without pain. | |