Poems by J.C. ; with additions.

Vpon an Hermaphrodite.

SIr, or Madame, chuse you whether, Nature twist'd you both together: And makes thy soul two garbes confesse, Both Petticoat and Breeches dresse. Thus we chastise the God of Wine, With water that is Feminine, Untill the cooler Nymph abate His wrath, and so concorporate. Adam till his rib was lost; Had both Sexes thus ingrost: When Providence our Sire did cleave, And out of Adam carved Eve, Then did man 'bout Wedlock treat, To make his body up compleat: Thus Matrimony speaks but Thee In a grave solemnity. For man and wife make but one right Canonicall Hermaphrodite. Ravell thy body, and I find In every limb a double kind. Who would not think that head a pair, That breeds such faction in the hair? One halfe so churlish in the touch, That rather then indure so much, I would my tender limbs apparell In Regulus his nailed barrell:

But the other halfe so small, And so amorous withall, That Cupid thinks each hair doth grow A string for his invis'ble bow. When I look babies in thine eyes, Here Venus, there Adonis lies. And though thy beauty be high noon, Thy Orbe contains both Sun and Moon. How many melting kisses skip 'Twixt thy Male and Female lip? 'Twixt thy upper brush of hair And thy nether beards despair. When thou speak'st, I would not wrong Thy sweetnesse with a double tongue: But in every single sound A perfect Dialogue is found. Thy breasts distinguish one another; This the sister, that the brother. When thou joyn'st hands, my eare still fancies The Nuptiall sound, I Iohn take Frances: Feel but the difference, soft, and rough; This a Gantlet, that a Muffe: Had sly Vlysses, at the sack Of Troy brought thee his Pedlers pack, And weapons too to know Achilles From King Nicomedes Phillis, His plot had fail'd; this hand would feel The Needle, that the warlike steel.

When musick doth thy pace advance, Thy right leg takes thy left to dance. Nor is't a Galliard danc'd by one, But a mixt dance, though alone: Thus every heteroclite part Changes gender, but thy heart. Nay those which modest can mean, And dare not speak, are Epicoene; That Gamester needs must overcome, That can play both Tib and Tom. Thus did Natures mintage vary, Coyning thee a Philip and Mary.