Ye fam'd physicians of this place, 
Hear Strephon's and poor Chole's case. 
  Nor think that I am joking; 
When she wou'd, he cannot comply, 
When he wou'd drink, she's not a-dry; 
  And is not this provoking?

At night, when Strephon comes to rest, 
Chloe receives him on her breast, 
  With fondly-folding arms: 
Down, down he hangs his drooping head, 
Falls fast asleep, and lies as dead, 
  Neglecting all her charms.

Reviving when the morn returns, 
With rising flames young Strephon burns, 
  And fain, wou'd fain be doing:
But Chloe now, asleep or sick, 
Has no great relish for the trick, 
  And sadly balks his wooing.

O cruel and disast'rous case, 
When in the critical embrace 
  That only one is burning! 
Dear doctors, set this matter right, 
Give Strephon spirits over night, 
  Or Chloe in the morning.