The Entertainment to Phillis

Now Phoebus is gone down to sleep
In cold embraces of the deep,
And Nights Pavillion in the Sky,
(Crown'd with a Starry (Canopy)
Erected stands, whence the pale Moon
Steals out to her Endimion;
Over the Meads, and o're the Floods,
Thorough the ridings of the Woods,
Th' enamour'd Huntress scours her ways,
And through Night's vail her horns displays,
I have a Bower for my Love,
Hid in the Center of a Grove
Of aged Oaks, close from the sight
Of all the prying Eyes of Night.
The polish'd Walls of Marble be
Pillaster'd round with porphyry,
Casements of Chrystal to transmit,
Night's sweets to thee, and thine to it,
Fine silver Locks to Ebon Doors,
Rich gilded Roofs, and Cedar Floors,
With all the Objects may express
A pleasing Solitariness.
Within my Love shall find each room,
New furnish'd from the Silk-worms Loom,
Vessels of the true antick mold,
Cups cut in Amber, Myrrh, and Gold;
Quilts blown with Roses, Beds with Down,
More white than Atlas aged Crown,
Carpets where Flowers woven grow,
Only thy sweeter steps to strew,
Such as may emulation bring,
To the wrought mantle of the Spring.
There silver Lamps shall silent shine,
Supply'd by Oyls of Iessamine,
And mists of Odours shall arise
To air thy little Paradise.
I have such Fruits too, for thy taste,
As teeming Autumn never grac't,
Apples, as round, as thine own Eyes;
Or, as thy Sister Beauties prize,
Smooth, as thy snowy Skin, and sleek
And ruddy as the Morning's cheek,
Grapes, that the Tyrian purple wear,
The spritely Matrons of the Year,
Such, as Lyoeus never bare,
About his drowsy Brows, so fair,
So plump, so large, so ripe, so good,
So full of flavour, and of blood.
There's Water in a Grot hard by,
To quench thee, when with dalliance dry,
Sweet, as the Milk of Sand-red Cow,
Brighter than Cynthi'as silver Bow,
Cold, as the Goddess self e'er was,
And clearer than thy Looking-glass.
But oh! the summ of all delight
For which the Day submits to Night,
Is that my Phillis thou wilt find,
When we are in embraces twin'd.
Pleasures that so have tempted Iove,
To all his Masquerades of Love;
For them the Prince his purple waves,
And strips him naked as his Slaves.
'Tis they that teach humanity
The thing we love, the reason why:
Before we live; but ne'er 'till then,
Are females Women; or males Men:
This is the way, and this the trade,
That does perfect what nature made,
Then go; but first thy beauties skreen,
Lest they that revell on the Lawns
The Nymphs, the Satyrs, and the Fawns,
Adore thee for Nights horned Queen.