The Anatomy of Melancholy

On his wedding day, while at dinner, the physician Stratocles “took no sip before planting three kisses on the girl”: he could not eat for kissing the bride. First a word, then a kiss; then some further compliment, then a kiss; then an idle question, then a kiss. And when he has drained his wit dry and can say no more, kissing and embracing are never out of season:

This never fails; it is always beginning again.

It never ends: another kiss, and then another, another and another.

Come here, O Thelayra. Come, kiss me, Corinna!

A hundred kisses a hundred times, A hundred kisses a thousand times, A thousand kisses a thousand times, And as many thousands, a thousand times, As there are drops in the Sicilian sea, As there are stars in the sky, On those rosy cheeks, On those softly swelling lips, And on those eloquent little eyes, I shall plant in one unbroken rush, O beautiful Neaera.

As Catullus says to Lesbia:

Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, Then another thousand; give a second hundred, Then still more thousands, then a hundred.

First give a hundred, Then a thousand, then another Hundred; then to the other Add a thousand, and still more.

Until you match the abundance of all the grass, and so forth. So Venus did with her Adonis, and the Moon with Endymion. They are always fondling and embracing, like so many doves, “joining lips to lips as doves do,” and with eagerness and spirit:

They press eagerly against the body, mingling Their mouths’ saliva, and breathe into one another while gripping lips with their teeth.

“With mouth pressed so firmly that they can scarcely draw their lips away, the neck bent back”: so Lamprias kissed Thais in Lucian, and Philippus kissed his beloved in Aristaenetus. “Maddened by love, he clung so fiercely that it was scarcely possible to part our lips, and he bruised my whole mouth.” One of her suitors greeted Aretino’s Lucretia in this way; and it is their usual practice.

Their teeth often play upon the lips, And they press close, fastening kisses upon them.

They cannot, I say, control themselves. They are always joining hands and kissing, but also embracing, treading on each other’s toes and reaching into each other’s bosoms, “willingly and with pleasure,” as Philostratus confesses to his mistress; and as Lamprias in Lucian, “pressing her breasts, with his right hand secretly inside her dress.” They feel their breasts, sometimes with little regard for decency, as the old man in the comedy rightly observed of his son: “Did I not see you put your hand into this girl’s bosom?” Come now! And there are many other such lovers’ tricks.