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.