To a Lady who made Posies for Rings.
1
I little thought the time would ever bee,
That I should Wit in Dwarfish Posies see.
As all Words in Few Letters live,
Thou to few Words all Sense dost give.
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art
In such a Little Much to shew,
Who all the good she did impart
To Womankind Epitomiz'd in you.
2
If as the Ancients did not doubt to sing,
The turning Years be well compar'd to a Ring,
We'll write what ere from you we hear,
For that's the Posie of the Year.
This difference onely will remain,
That Time his former face does shew
Winding into himself again,
But your unweari'd Wit is always New.
3
'Tis said that Conju'rers have an Art found out
To carry Spi'rits confin'd in Rings about.
The wonder now will less appear
When we behold your Magick here.
You by your Rings do Pris'ners take,
And chain them with your mystick Spells,
And the strong Witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great Dev'il, charm'd to those Circles dwells.
4
They who above do various Circles finde,
Say, like a Ring th' Æquator Heav'n does bind.
When Heaven shall be adorn'd by thee
(Which then more Heav'n then 'tis will be)
'Tis thou must write the Posie there,
For it wanteth one as yet,
Though the Sun pass through't twice a year,
The Sun who is esteem'd the God of Wit.
5
Happy the Hands which wear thy sacred Rings,
They'll teach those Hands to write mysterious things.
Let other Rings, with Jewels bright,
Cast around their costly light,
Let them want no noble Stone
By Nature rich, and Art refin'd,
Yet shall thy Rings give place to none,
But onely that which must thy Mariage bind.
