The Oyster to His Valentine

Mr Bond

Where Aereids sport, and sea gods lave;
Where gently rolls the emerald wave;
Form the recesses of the sea
I come sweet maid to dwell with thee,
Far from my rock whose awful state
No human tongue must e’er relate
My face the painter’s skill defies,
My form, all other forms outvies.
Soft is my heart, indeed! ’tis true;
Slippery I own yet firm to you.
Seasoned well with Attic salt,
That leaves my wit without a fault.
I’ll seek those lips on which I dote
That stole my cousin coral’s coat
And in that bosom find a place
Though blushes overspread thy face
Near thee, my marble palace stands,
Built by more than mortal hands;
Transparent pearls my chambers line,
What monarch’s can compare with mine?
My wide apartments, vaulted dome,
Will leave thee ample space to roam:
Such gorgeous honours, all this state
My chosen Valentine await.
Then all these honours, he can boast,
What oyster need in love be cross’d.