Count on Rochester for the most beautiful poem in the English language on the subject of premature ejaculation. It was first published in 1680, shortly after Rochester’s death.
This is a reading text in modern spelling, with no pretense to being a critical edition. The notes are my own.
| Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms, | ||
| I filled with love, and she all over charms; | ||
| Both equally inspired with eager fire, | ||
| Melting through kindness, flaming in desire. | ||
| 5 | With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace, | |
| She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face. | ||
| Her nimble tongue, Love’s lesser lightening, played | ||
| Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed° | delivered | |
| Swift orders that I should prepare to throw | ||
| 10 | The all-dissolving thunderbolt below. | |
| My fluttering soul, sprung with the painted kiss, | ||
| Hangs hovering o’er her balmy° brinks of bliss. | delicious | |
| But whilst her busy hand would guide that part | ||
| Which should convey my soul up to her heart, | ||
| 15 | In liquid raptures° I dissolve all o’er, | ecstasy |
| Melt into sperm, and spend° at every pore. | ejaculate | |
| A touch from any part of her had done ’t:° | would have done it | |
| Her hand, her foot, her very look’s a cunt. | ||
| Smiling, she chides° in a kind murmuring noise, | teases | |
| 20 | And from her body wipes the clammy joys, | |
| When, with a thousand kisses wandering o’er | ||
| My panting bosom, “Is there then no more?” | ||
| She cries. “All this to love and rapture’s due; | ||
| Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?” | ||
| 25 | But I, the most forlorn,° lost man alive, | lost, ruined |
| To show my wished obedience vainly strive:° | try | |
| I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.° | fuck | |
| Eager desires confound° my first intent, | defeat | |
| Succeeding shame does more success prevent, | ||
| 30 | And rage at last confirms me impotent. | |
| Ev’n her fair hand, which might bid heat return | ||
| To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn, | ||
| Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more | ||
| Than fire to ashes could past flames restore. | ||
| 35 | Trembling, confused, despairing, limber,° dry, | limp |
| A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie. | ||
| This dart° of love, whose piercing point, oft tried, | arrow | |
| With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed; | ||
| Which nature still directed with such art | ||
| 40 | That it through every cunt reached every heart — | |
| Stiffly resolved, ’twould carelessly invade | ||
| Woman or man, nor aught its fury stayed:° | and nothing could stop its fury | |
| Where’er it pierced, a cunt it found or made — | ||
| Now languid° lies in this unhappy hour, | powerless | |
| 45 | Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower. | |
| Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame, | ||
| False to my passion, fatal to my fame, | ||
| Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove | ||
| So true to lewdness,° so untrue to love? | immoral sex | |
| 50 | What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore | |
| Didst thou e’er fail in all thy life before? | ||
| When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way, | ||
| With what officious° haste dost thou obey! | eager to please | |
| Like a rude, roaring hector° in the streets | bully | |
| 55 | Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets, | |
| But if his king or country claim his aid, | ||
| The rakehell° villain shrinks and hides his head; | immoral | |
| Ev’n so thy brutal valour is displayed, | ||
| Breaks every stew,° does each small whore invade, | whorehouse | |
| 60 | But when great Love the onset does command, | |
| Base recreant° to thy prince, thou dar’st not stand. | traitor | |
| Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most, | ||
| Through all the town a common fucking-post, | ||
| On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt | ||
| 65 | As hogs do rub themselves on gates and grunt, | |
| May’st thou to ravenous chancres° be a prey, | weeping sores | |
| Or in consuming weepings waste away; | ||
| May strangury° and stone° thy days attend; | painful urination — kidneystone | |
| May’st thou ne’er piss, who did refuse to spend° | ejaculate | |
| 70 | When all my joys did on false thee depend. | |
| And may ten thousand abler pricks agree | ||
| To do the wronged Corinna right for thee. |