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Of Chastity, with pleasure I

Would grant your prayer, but verily

I dare in nowise contradict

Her will, and she hath given most strict

And sure commandment, none should touch

Or kiss the Rose, however much

Or sorely he might plead therefor:

I pray you press your suit no more.

‘For one,’ saith she, ‘who should attain

To touch and kiss, will not remain

Therewith content; he then had got

The choicest morsel, well I wot,

And pledge, thereby, that one day he

Should win the rest all utterly.’”

Thus answered, to my mind ’twas clear

I must forego my suit, for fear

Of angering him.

One ne’er should press

A prayer to point of wrathfulness.

No mortal man, with single stroke,

E’er cut atwain a sturdy oak,

And none may know wine’s savour sweet,

Till grapes are trodden ’neath men’s feet.

My suit for many a day had waited,

By this or that mischance belated,

If Venus, whom all lovers know

As friend to them, and mortal foe

To Chastity, had not appeared.

Mother of Love is she, endeared