MARTIALIS
EPIGRAMMA
.
Lib.
vi
.
Ep.
24.
Imitated
.
By
the
Same
.
COME
,
Chloe
,
and
give
me
sweet
kisses
,
For
sweeter
sure
never
girl
gave
:
But
why
in
the
midst
of
my
blisses
Do
you
ask
me
how
many
I'd
have
?
I'm
not
to
be
stinted
in
pleasure
,
Then
pr'ythee
my
charmer
be
kind
,
For
whilst
I
love
thee
above
measure
,
To
numbers
I'll
ne'er
be
confin'd
.
Count
the
bees
that
on
Hybla
are
playing
,
Count
the
flow'rs
that
enamel
its
fields
,
Count
the
flocks
that
on
Tempe
are
straying
,
Or
the
grain
that
rich
Sicily
yields
;
Go
number
the
stars
in
the
heaven
,
Count
how
many
sands
on
the
shore
,
When
so
many
kisses
you've
given
I
still
shall
be
craving
for
more
.
To
a
heart
full
of
love
let
me
hold
thee
,
To
a
heart
which
,
dear
Chloe
,
is
thine
;
With
my
arms
I'll
for
ever
enfold
thee
,
And
twist
round
thy
limbs
like
a
vine
.
What
joy
can
be
greater
than
this
is
?
My
life
on
thy
lips
shall
be
spent
;
But
the
wretch
that
can
number
his
kisses
With
few
will
be
ever
content
.