The Kiss: A Dialogue

Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
I shall resolve ye what it is:--

It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry-red,
By love and warm desires fed,--
CHOR. And makes more soft the bridal bed.
It is an active flame, that flies
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies,--
CHOR. And stills the bride, too, when she cries.
Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,
It frisks and flies, now here, now there:
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near,--
CHOR. And here, and there, and every where.
Has it a speaking virtue?
Yes.
How speaks it, say?
Do you but this,--
Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss;
CHOR. And this Love's sweetest language is.
Has it a body?
Ay, and wings,
With thousand rare encolourings;
And as it flies, it gently sings--
CHOR. Love honey yields, but never stings.