O perfect fruit upon thy vine How newly ripen'd thee How sweet a luscious limb-entwin'd Gluttony would be
O fresh thou art as see we all Thee shan't thy nectar waste If into my hands thee fall Intact but ready grac'd
O sweetest dew 'ere tempt' my lips Let not me turn to dust Thy vessel begs my passion'd sips Deny thee not my lust
O honey-blushed thy siren's flesh Evoketh raw desire Open now thee to my wish And quench this gourmet's fire.
