Charles Cotton (1630–1687)

WHEN, Coelia, must my old day set,

And my young morning rise

In beams of joy so bright as yet

Ne’er bless’d a lover’s eyes?

My state is more advanced than when

I first attempted thee:

I sued to be a servant then,

But now to be made free.

I’ve served my time faithful and true,

Expecting to be placed

In happy freedom, as my due,

To all the joys thou hast:

Ill husbandry in love is such

A scandal to love’s power,

We ought not to misspend so much

As one poor short-lived hour.

Yet think not, sweet, I’m weary grown,

That I pretend such haste;

Since none to surfeit e’er was known

Before he had a taste:

My infant love could humbly wait

When, young, it scarce knew how

To plead; but grown to man’s estate,

He is impatient now.