[I]
A
POEM
TO THE
CHARMING FAIR ONE
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I.
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HOw far of old (as Fame Records)
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Did English Arms advance?
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Whilst Brittain's Kings, and Brittish Swords
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Enslav'd the vanquish't France.
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II.
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But in one Conquering Ladyes Eyes
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Heav'n joyns so many Charms;
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She all their want of Pow'r supplys
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T'avenge their weaker Arms.
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III.
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By this one Beauty of their Land,
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They their lost Fame renew:
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Where the French Thunder's at a stand,
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Their Lightning does subdue.
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IV.
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Not Venus drawn by her own Doves
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Her Warlike God to meet,
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In so much splendid Triumph moves,
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Nor bears a state so Great.
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V.
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What Princes would not to possess
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This glorious prize conspire,
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Though like the beauteous Dame of Greece,
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She sets their Troy on Fire.
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VI.
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Yet in her pomp this wretched Fair
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Is despicably vain;
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A shrine so bright without, did ne're
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Inclose a soul so mean.
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VII.
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Rich in herself, yet as in Mines,
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Like slaves she toyls for Oar,
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Poorly and servilely she pines
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T'exhaust the Royall store.
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VIII.
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For Her their pearl, the Fruitfull Seas
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(Those Globes of brightness) mould;
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To her the Earth her Tribute pays,
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And teems with fatall Gold.
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IX.
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Thus Natures Treasuries unlock,
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This Idoll to adorn:
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And from the glittering Diamond-Rock,
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The crusted Jems are torn.
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X.
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With golden Rays thus round her head
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She spreads Loves wanton Nets:
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Sleeps like the Sun in's Western bed;
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In her own Indies sets.
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XI.
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Be frankly kinde, and pay Loves Debt!
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Think thou' hast a King insnared:
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The Glory of a prize so great,
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Does bring its own Reward.
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XII.
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The Thunderer wooed but once in Gold,
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His meanest shape could win,
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For still his humbled Dress did hold
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The Dazling God within.
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XIII.
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For shame let no false Jems be worn,
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Be perfectly Divine;
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True Pride all borrow'd Plumes should scorn
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And by'ts own Lustre shine.
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