Out of an Epigram of Martial.

P R ithee die and set me free,
Or else be
Kind and Brisk, and Gay like me;
I pretend not to the wise ones,
To the grave, to the grave,
Or the precise ones.

'Tis not Cheeks, nor Lips, nor Eyes,
That I prize,
Quick Conceits, or sharp Replies,
If wise thou wilt appear and knowing,
Repartie, Repartie,
To what I'm doing.

Prithee why the Room so dark?
Not a Spark
Left to light me to the Mark;
I love Day-light and a Candle,
And to see, and to see,
As well as handle.

Why so many Bolts and Locks,
Coats and Smocks,
And those Drawers with a Pox?
I could wish, could Nature make it,
Nakedness, Nakedness
It self were naked.

But if a Mistress I must have,
Wise and Grave,
Let her so her self behave
All the day long Susan Civil,
Pap by night, pap by night,
Or such a Devil.