1  
Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?

2  
I shall resolve ye what it is:--
It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry-red,
By love and warm desires fed,--

CHOR.  
And makes more soft the bridal bed.

2  
It is an active flame, that flies
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies,--

CHOR.  
And stills the bride, too, when she cries.

2  
Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,
It frisks and flies, now here, now there:
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near,--

CHOR.  
And here, and there, and every where.

1  
Has it a speaking virtue?  

2  
Yes.
1  
How speaks it, say?  

2  
Do you but this,--
Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss;

CHOR.  
And this Love's sweetest language is.

1  
Has it a body?  

2  
Ay, and wings,
With thousand rare encolourings;
And as it flies, it gently sings--

CHOR.  
Love honey yields, but never stings.