Poem by Aphra Behn

The Permission

    My Damon, tho' I stint your Love,
        I will not stint your Appetite;
    That I would have you still improve,
        By every new and fresh Delight.
Feast till Apollo hides his Head,
Or drink the Am'rous God to Thetis' Bed.

    Be like your self: All witty, gay!
        And o'er the Bottle bless the Board;
    The list'ning Round will, all the Day,
        Be charm'd, and pleas'd with every Word.
Tho' Venus' Son inspire your Wit,
'Tis the Silenian God best utters it.

    Here talk of every thing but me,
        Since ev'ry thing you say with Grace:
    If not dispos'd your Humour be,
        And you'd this Hour in silence pass;
Since something must the Subject prove,
Of Damon's Thoughts, let it be Me and Love.

    But, Damon, this enfranchised Hour,
        Bounds, or Laws, will I impose;
    But leave it wholly in your pow'r,
        What Humour to refuse or chuse;
I Rules prescribe but to your Flame;
For I, your Mistress, not Physician, am.

1. The Willing Mistriss
2. On the Death of E. Waller, Esq.
3. The First Cypher
4. Amintas That True-Hearted Swain
5. Song (Cease, cease, Aminta, to complain)

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