T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Imperfect Enjoyment
By John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (16471680)FRUITION was the question in debate, | |
Which like so hot a casuist I state, | |
That she my freedom urged as my offense | |
To teach my reason to subdue my sense; | |
But yet this angry cloud, that did proclaim | 5 |
Volleys of thunder, melted into rain; | |
And this adult’rate stamp of seeming nice, | |
Made feigned virtue but a bawd to vice; | |
For, by a compliment that’s seldom known, | |
She thrusts me out, and yet invites me home; | 10 |
And these denials, but advance delight, | |
As prohibition sharpens appetite; | |
For the kind curtain raising my esteem, | |
To wonder as the opening of the scene, | |
When of her breast her hands the guardians were, | 15 |
Yet I salute each sullen officer: | |
Tho’ like the flaming sword before my eyes, | |
They block the passage to my paradise; | |
Nor could those tyrant-hands so guard the coin, | |
But love, where’t cannot purchase, may purloin: | 20 |
For tho’ her breasts are hid, her lips are prize, | |
To make me rich beyond my avarice; | |
Yet my ambition my affection fed, | |
To conquer both the white rose and the red. | |
The event proved true, for on the bed she sate | 25 |
And seemed to court what she had seemed to hate; | |
Heat of resistance had increased her fire, | |
And weak defense is turned to strong desire. | |
What unkind influence could interspose, | |
When two such stars did in conjunction close? | 30 |
Only too hasty zeal my hopes did foil, | |
Pressing to feed her lamp, I spilt my oil; | |
And that which most reproach upon me hurled, | |
Was dead to her, gives life to all the world, | |
Nature’s chief prop, and motion’s primest source, | 35 |
In me lost both their figure and their force. | |
Sad conquest! When it is the victor’s fate, | |
To die at the entrance of the op’ning gate: | |
Like prudent corporations had we laid | |
A common stock by, we’d improved our trade; | 40 |
But as a prodigal heir, I spent bye-the-bye, | |
What, home directed, would serve her and I. | |
When next in such assaults I chance to be, | |
Give me less vigour, more activity; | |
For love turns impotent, when strained too high; | 45 |
His very cordials, make him sooner die, | |
Evaporates in fume the fire too great; | |
Love’s chemistry thrives best in equal heat. | |