Forbidden Fruit

Pish! 'tis an idle fond excuse,
And Love, enrag'd by this abuse,
Is deaf to any longer truce.

My Zeal, to Lust you still impute,
And when I justifie my suit,
You tell me, 'Tis Forbidden Fruit.

What though your Face be Apple-round,
And with a Rosy colour Crown'd?
Yet, Sweet, it is no Apple found.

Nor have you ought resembling more
That fatal Fruit the Tree once bore,
But that indeed your Heart's a core.

'Tis true, the bliss that I would tast,
Is something lower than the wast,
And in your Gardens Centre plac't.

A Tree of Life too, I confess,
Though but Arbuscular in dress,
Yet not forbidden ne'retheless.

It is a tempting golden tree,
Which all Men must desire that see,
Though it concern'd Eternity.

Then, since those blessings are thine own,
Not subject to Contrition,
Then, Fairest, Sweetest, grant me one.

Thy Dragon, wrapt in drowsiness,
Ne're thinks whose bed thy beauties bless,
Nor dreams of his Hesperides.