But if she's heavy, I suppose at nightShe'll change, and prove, as I would have her, light,The fair that sings, enchants me with her voice;Oh, what a gust it gives a lover's joys!When her shrill shakes afresh his bosom wound,And from her lips he kisses off the sound;When her soft fingers touch the silver strings,And sweetly to the sounding lute she sings;Who can resist such strong redoubled charms?Her music melts me, as her beauty warmsIf in the dance the nimble nymph I find,And view how she her pliant limbs does wind,How artfully she to the music moves,I cry, "How happy is the man she loves!"My humour, in a word, is plainly this,All objects please, and nothing comes amiss.To love, and be belov'd my sole employ:Dispos'd to be enjoy'd, and to enjoy.This lady for her length I like, her spreadWill swell my arms, and fill the joyous bed;