Now comest thou. May Venus goodAid thee when frankly takest thouThy wishes won, nor true Love woo'dThou carest to conceal.Of Afric's wolds and wilds each grain,Or constellations glistening,First reckon he that of the twainTo count alone were fain to bringThe many thousand joys.Play as ye please: soon prove ye deftAt babying babes,—'twere ill design'dA name thus ancient should be leftHeirless, but issue like of kindEngendered aye should be.A wee Torquaitus fain I'd seeEncradled on his mother's breastPut forth his tender puds while heSmiles to his sire with sweetest gestAnd liplets half apart.Let son like father's semblance show