What! no more favours? Not a ribband more,
Not fan nor muff to hold as heretofore?
Must all the little blisses then be left,
And what was once love's gift become our theft?
May we not look ourselves into a trance,5
Teach our souls parley at our eyes, not glance,
Not touch the hand, not by soft wringing there
Whisper a love that only yes can hear?
Not free a sigh, a sigh that's there for you?
Dear, must I love you, and not love you too?10
Be wise, nice, fair; for sooner shall they trace
The feather'd choristers from place to place,
By prints they make in th' air, and sooner say
By what right line the last star made his way
That fled from heaven to earth, than guess to know15
How our loves first did spring, or how they grow.
Love is all spirit: fairies sooner may
Be taken tardy, when they night-tricks play,
Than we. We are too dull and lumpish rather:
Would they could find us both in bed together!20