Song

Through misty caves by Doric stakes embower’d
Five-score bright-coloured tiles, this heaven’s fed
With rapturous Nymphs whose treacle hair lays flower’d
By spice, and oil, and steam, and flame; there wed.

‘My Prince! Whom unto this spring hath appear’d,’
‘Imbue this holy wick; see – fire doth rise,
‘Hither come, now, sweet heir!’ she spake – she jeer’d!
The Prince met the Nymph’s sparkling em’rald eyes.

‘Great Gods!’ spake our Prince, eyes wand’ring below
The mirror’d candle flame on the water;
‘Thy muslin shifte doth like a mermaid flow,
‘Truly, couldst thou be Poseidon’s daughter?’

What trickery to find in women’s cries!
What lustre in their soft giggles and sighs!
From below, the Nymph’s chestnut thighs did rise
And dreams poured from her sparkling em’rald eyes!

’By all the gods and their bright devilry,
‘I’ll pluck the moon and stars from out the sky!
‘Heaven’s bodies,’ cried our Prince, with glee
‘Will bring you back through space and time to me!’