She lay all naked in her bed

She lay all naked in her bed,

And I myself lay by;

No veil but curtains about her spread,

No covering but I.

Her head upon her shoulder seeks

To hang in careless wise,

And full of blushes were her cheeks,

And of wishes were her eyes. 

Her blood still fresh into her face,

As on a message came,

To say that in another place

It meant another game.

Her cherry lip moist, plump and fair,

Millions of kisses crown,

Which ripe and uncropt dangled there,

And weighed the branches down.

Her breasts, that welled so plump and high

Bread pleasant pain in me.

For all the world I do defy

The like felicity;

Her thighs and belly, soft and fair,

To me were only shown:

To have seen such meat, and not to eat,

Would anger any stone.

Her knees lay upward gently bent,

And all lay hollow under,

As if on easy terms, they meant

To fall unforced asunder;

Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,

Expecting in her bower,

When too long stay had kept the boy

Beyond his promised hour.

“Dull clown,” quoth she, “Why dost delay

Such proffered bliss to take?

Canst thou find out no other way

Similitudes to make?”

Mad with delight I, thundering,

Throw my arms about her,

But pox upon’t ’twas but a dream.

And so I lay without her.