Thomas Nashe

“ Nor Nilus overflowinge Egipt playne,
as is the balme that all her woombe destreynes.
“Now, oh now,” she trickling moues her lippes,
and often to and fro she lightly startes and skippes:
She yerkes her legges, and fresketh with her heeles:
noe tongue can tell the pleasures that she feeles. ”

“ A prettye rising wombe without a wenne,
that shine [s] as bright as any christell gemme,
And beares out like the riseing of a hill,
at whose decline the [r] runnes a fountayne still,
That hath her mouth besett with rugged briers,
resembling much a duskye nett of wires:
A lusty buttock, barrd with azure vaines,
whose comely swellinge, when my hand restraines,
Or harmles checketh with a wanton gripe,
it makes the fruite thereof too soone be ripe,
A pleasure pluckt to tymely from his springe
it is, dyes e’re it can enioye the vsed thinge. ”

“ She shakes her feete, and waggles with her tongue:
Oh, whoe is able to forbeare so longe?
“I come, I come, sweete Ladye, by thy leaue;”
softely my fingers up theis curtaines heaue,
And send me happye stealing by degrees,
first vnto the feete, and then vnto the knees,
And so ascend vnto her manly thigh—
a pox on lingering, when I come so nighe!
Smocke, climbe apace, that I may see my ioyes,
all earthly pleasures seeme to this but toyes,
Compard be these delightes which I behould,
which well might keepe a man from being olde. ”