I. <br />I cannot tell, who loves the skeleton <br />Of a poor marmoset; nought but boan, boan; <br />Give me a nakednesse, with her cloath's on. <br /> <br /> II. <br />Such, whose white-sattin upper coat of skin, <br />Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin, <br />Has yet a body (and of flesh) within. <br /> <br /> III. <br />Sure, it is meant good husbandry in men, <br />Who do incorporate with aery leane, <br />T' repair their sides, and get their ribb agen. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Hard hap unto that huntsman, that decrees <br />Fat joys for all his swet, when as he sees, <br />After his 'say, nought but his keepers fees. <br /> <br /> V. <br />Then, Love, I beg, when next thou tak'st thy bow, <br />Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go, <br />Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the largest doe.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/missing-title-skey-la-bella-bona/
