A Petition

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THE mole on your bubbies so round and so white,
By the mole on your neck, where my arms would delight,
By what-ever mole else you have got out of sight,
I pr'ythee now hear me, dear Molly.

By the kiss just a-starting from off your moist lips,
By the delicate up-and-down jott of your hips,
By the tip of your tongue, which all tongues out-tips
I pr'ythee now hear me, dear Molly.

By the down on your bosom on which my soul dies,
By the thing of all things which you love as your eyes,

By the thoughts you lie down with, & those when you rise,
I pr'ythee now hear me, dear Molly.

By ail the soft pleasures a virgin can share,
By the critical minute no virgin can bear,
By the question I burn for to ask, but don't dare,
I pr'ythee now hear me, dear Molly.

[Anonymous]

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