Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss

George Wither (1588–1667)

NOW gentle sleep hath closèd 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 aught 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?

O, she may awake, and therewith angry grow!

Well, if she do, I ’ll back restore that one,

And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.