Poem by George Wither

Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes  
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;  
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,  
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.  
 
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal  
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss;  
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,  
Nor rob I her of ought what she can miss:  
 
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,  
There would be little sign I would do so;  
Why, then, should I this robbery delay?  
Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow!  
 
Well, if she do, I’ll back restore that one,  
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. 

1. From a Satire written to King James I
2. A Rocking Hymn
3. Her Beauty
4. Song (Lordly gallants!)
5. For Seasonable Weather

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