The Tyrannical Beauty.
Beauty fadeth like a Flower,
Then fair Ladies be not Proud,
Time and Sickness may Devour,
What at present you'r allow'd.
To a Pleasant Tune; called, Prodigious Fate.
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SInce her Beauty's grown a Snare,
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And by that I'm deeply Wounded,
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Yet my hopes are quite confounded,
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my Love I can't declare:
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If my passion I discover,
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and my Love should me deny,
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She'l destroy a faithful Lover,
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and her Martyr I shall dye.
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To the Grave then shall I post,
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While her beauty is admired,
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And by all men much desired,
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yet i'le strive to love her most:
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When my Body is Interred,
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she perhaps of me will say,
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There's the faithfull'st Lover buried,
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that e're saw the Sun shine day.
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On my Tomb these Lines i'le have,
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And i'le get some loving Poet,
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Who before I dye shall know it,
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that she brought me to my Grave:
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And these words i'le have Inserted
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that she broke my tender heart,
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First my reason she perverted,
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then she sent her Killing Dart.
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Then the world shall justly say,
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They must blame her charming beauty
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Which of all commanded Duty,
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with this preceipt, you must pay:
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And account yourselves befriended,
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if for me you pains indure,
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For before your days are ended,
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I perhaps may grant a Cure.
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By this means she doth command,
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And they must by force obey her,
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Who so bold as to gain-say her,
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or who can her power withstand:
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No man yet could e're oppose her,
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in the strictest of her Charge,
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For all mortal men that knows her,
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ne'r shall keep their minds at large.
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You that ne'r did see her face,
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Keep your freedom while you have it,
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in vain to hope to save it,
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such will be your hapless case:
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If at any time you view her,
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whose fair eye commands the world,
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In a moment to be sure,
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into passion you'l be whirl'd.
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Where a Prisoner you'l remain,
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And for certain be confined,
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As her Cruelty designed,
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till your heart is broke with pain:
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Though a thousand she hath wounded,
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and for love of her they dy'd,
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And in Seas of sorrow Drownded,
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yet is she unsatisfied.
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Killing Beauty now give o're,
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Be no more so deadly Cruel,
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To Loves fires add no more Fuel,
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tyrannize o're men no more:
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'Tis unjust they should be used,
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for their Loves as they have been,
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For their kindness much abused,
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this is sure a deadly Sin.
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You in time may be repay'd,
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When your Beauties are disbanded,
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Which have you so much befriended,
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and so many Captives made:
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Then your power will be deminsht,
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and your pride will sure abate,
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When your Tyranny is finisht,
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then your Captives will you hate.
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Take my Counsel then in time,
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And forbear to use severely,
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Those poor souls that love you dearly
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while your beauty is in prime:
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For in time you may lament you
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when perhaps 'twill be too late,
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Former pride may discontent you,
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causing you to Curse your fate.
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