Александр Бром (Alexander Brome)

To his Mistress (WHy dost thou frown my dear, on me?)

1.

WHy dost thou frown my dear, on me?
Come change that angry face.
What though I kist that Prodigie,
And did her ugly limbs embrace?
'Twas only 'cause thou wert in place.

2.

Had I suck't poyson from her breath,
One kiss could set me free:
Thy lip's an Antidote 'gainst Death;
Nor would I ever wish to be
Cur'd of a sickness but by thee.

3.

The little birds for dirt repair
Down from the purer skie,
And shall not I kiss foul and fair?
Wilt thou give Birds more pow'r than I?
Fye, 'tis a scrupulous nicety.

4.

When all the World I've rang'd about,
All beauties else to spy,
And, at the last, can find none out,
Equal to thee in beauty; I
Will make thee my sole Deity.

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