Poem by George Wither

Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes  
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;  
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,  
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.  
 
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal  
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss;  
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,  
Nor rob I her of ought what she can miss:  
 
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,  
There would be little sign I would do so;  
Why, then, should I this robbery delay?  
Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow!  
 
Well, if she do, I’ll back restore that one,  
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. 

1. For Seasonable Weather
2. Her Beauty
3. The Lord Is King
4. Lilies Without, Lilies Within
5. Song (Lordly gallants!)

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