Upon Julia's Tears, Voice And Togs Under Lock And Key After Robert Herrick Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Whenas in tears his Julia flows
the season's reasons we suppose
well from neglect she feels he shows,
Next, when she casts her eyes to me
sees scintillation, carats three,
O how that glittering taketh she!

Soon bright is eye, and cleared is nose,
while soul, no longer comatose,
sparkles gaily, top to toes,
as I, whose sigh finds favour's key
unlock a glance eternity
acknowledges with jealousy.

So sweet, so smooth, silk soft her voice's tone
the Damn'd rejoice, their souls no choice but moan,
must hearken to her, (strumming in her chamber) ,
muse melting melodies through lutes of amber.

Whenas to shoot my Julia goes,
Then, then [methinks] how bravely shows
That rare arrangement of her clothes!

So, shod as when the Huntress Maid
With thumping buskin bruised the glade,
She moveth, making earth afraid.

Against the sting of random chaff
Her leathern gaiters circle half
The arduous crescent of her calf.

Unto th'occasion timely fit,
My love's attire doth show her wit,
And of her legs a little bit.

Sorely it sticketh in my throat,
She having nowhere to bestow't,
To name the absent petticoat.

In lieu whereof a wanton pair
Of knickerbockers she doth wear,
Full windy and with space to spare.

Enlargèd by the bellying breeze,
Lord! how they playfully do ease
The urgent knocking of her knees!

Lengthways curtailèd to her taste
A tunic circumvents her waist,
And soothly it is passing chaste.

Upon her head she hath a gear
Even such as wights of ruddy cheer
Do use in stalking of the deer.

Haply her truant tresses mock
Some coronal of shapelier block,
To wit, the bounding billy-cock.

Withal she hath a loaded gun,
Whereat the pheasants, as they run,
Do make a fair diversion.

For very awe, if so she shoots,
My hair upriseth from the roots,
And lo! I tremble in my boots.

When like a bud my Julia blows
In lattice-work of silken hose,
Pleasant I deem it is to note
How ‘neath the nimble petticoat,
Above her fairy shoe is set
The circumvolving zonulet.
And soothly for the lover's ear
A perfect bliss it is to hear
About her limb so lithe and lank
My Julia's ankle-bangle clank.
Not rudely tight, for ‘twere a sin
To corrugate her dainty skin;
Yet not so large that it might fare
Over her foot at unaware;
But fashioned nicely with a view
To let her airy stocking through;
So as, when Julia goes to bed,
Of all her gear disburdenèd,
This ring at least she shall not doff
Because she cannot take it off.
And since thereof I hold the key,
She may not taste of liberty,
Not though she suffer from the gout,
Unless I choose to let her out.