John André, The Frantick Lover
“ Contemns the sweet office, that soul of delight. Less tender, he seizes thy lips as his prey, And all thy dear limbs the rough summons obey. E'en now more licentious -- rash mortal, forbear! Restrain him, O Venus! Let him, too, despair! Freeze, freeze the swift streams which now hurry to join, And curse him with passions unsated like mine. How weak is my rage his fierce joy to controul. A kiss from thy body shoots life to his soul Thy frost, too, dissolv'd in one current is run And all thy keen feelings are blended in one. ”
