 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
451
An Old Man's Gift to a Fair Lady.
Pox o'your doting Coxcomb! was there ever
So old a Lover, and so young a Giver?
A pair of Spectacles! who the Devil, but thee,
Could have found out such a disparity?
There were, t'oblige thy Love, far better ways,
A lump of Sugar, or her Name in Baies,
A row of Pins, a Baby, or a Purse,
Or what as fit had been, a Hobby-horse,
A Valentine, had'st thou not wanted bloud
To paint it with, would have been full as good.
Thy old Seal-ring, thy Grandam's pleated Gown,
A Boon-grace to preserve her from the Sun.
Or any thing, rather than a dull pair
Of second Eyes, these must deform thy Fair.
So old a Lover, and so young a Giver?
A pair of Spectacles! who the Devil, but thee,
Could have found out such a disparity?
There were, t'oblige thy Love, far better ways,
A lump of Sugar, or her Name in Baies,
A row of Pins, a Baby, or a Purse,
Or what as fit had been, a Hobby-horse,
A Valentine, had'st thou not wanted bloud
To paint it with, would have been full as good.
Thy old Seal-ring, thy Grandam's pleated Gown,
A Boon-grace to preserve her from the Sun.
Or any thing, rather than a dull pair
Of second Eyes, these must deform thy Fair.
I see, thou fain would'st blast her in her prime
To parallel thy Age before her Time.
To parallel thy Age before her Time.
What do'st thou think thy Mistress cannot see,
Without such helps, thy full Deformity;
Thy shaking Noddle, and thy dropping Nose,
Whence the moist Philtre is salt Rheum that flows
Thy stooping Shoulders, and thy trembling Hands,
Thy burden Belly, and thy crinkling Hamms,
Thy spider's Legs, and thy club'd corny Feet,
That stink, though grown so dry they cannot sweat?
Or would'st thou have thy Love a Bug-bear be,
To fright the Boys in snavelling like thee?
Or is't to stop her sense she may not smell
The tainted Winds, that in thy Bowels swell,
Until they burst in cracks: nor snuff the sent,
Thy nasty, suppurated Issues vent?
Without such helps, thy full Deformity;
452
Whence the moist Philtre is salt Rheum that flows
Thy stooping Shoulders, and thy trembling Hands,
Thy burden Belly, and thy crinkling Hamms,
Thy spider's Legs, and thy club'd corny Feet,
That stink, though grown so dry they cannot sweat?
Or would'st thou have thy Love a Bug-bear be,
To fright the Boys in snavelling like thee?
Or is't to stop her sense she may not smell
The tainted Winds, that in thy Bowels swell,
Until they burst in cracks: nor snuff the sent,
Thy nasty, suppurated Issues vent?
I am content to think this gift was bought
In mirth, and given her for a Merry-thought.
Are they to mend her Sight, or dimm her Eyes,
So to eclipse her Sight from seeing these?
'Twas thy good Nature made thee give such ware,
And so, in troth, the Present was most rare.
For the great kindness of this gift implies,
Thou lov'st thy Mistress better than thine Eyes.
In mirth, and given her for a Merry-thought.
Are they to mend her Sight, or dimm her Eyes,
So to eclipse her Sight from seeing these?
'Twas thy good Nature made thee give such ware,
And so, in troth, the Present was most rare.
For the great kindness of this gift implies,
Thou lov'st thy Mistress better than thine Eyes.
If to find out, thou ever had'st design
A Present sit to offer at her Shrine;
Thou should'st have bought the Sun that Day of light,
And all the twinkling Beauties of the Night,
And yet, those glories of that arched Scene
Had been for her an Offering too mean.
A Present sit to offer at her Shrine;
453
And all the twinkling Beauties of the Night,
And yet, those glories of that arched Scene
Had been for her an Offering too mean.
Embroider'd Waste-coats, Spanish Gloves, or Plate,
Watches, or Jewels might become her State.
But couldst thou find out no allurement else?
A pair of nasty horn-set Spectacles!
Where were thy Wits, Old Fools? she might have born
With them, if set in Amalthea's horn:
And had those green-glass Orbs been cut from some
O'th' crystal Sphear, they might her Eyes become.
The Case might have past too if made it were
Of the Embroider'd Girdle o'th' next Sphear:
But such a wretched Rogue, with such an itch,
Never made love to any wrinkled Witch.
Watches, or Jewels might become her State.
But couldst thou find out no allurement else?
A pair of nasty horn-set Spectacles!
Where were thy Wits, Old Fools? she might have born
With them, if set in Amalthea's horn:
And had those green-glass Orbs been cut from some
O'th' crystal Sphear, they might her Eyes become.
The Case might have past too if made it were
Of the Embroider'd Girdle o'th' next Sphear:
But such a wretched Rogue, with such an itch,
Never made love to any wrinkled Witch.
Sure thou hast heard, that Love is blind, and thou
By this device would'st be a Cupid too.
A pleasant Plot i'faith! thou would'st be then
A pretty Boy of Fourscore years, and ten.
Or thou had'st laid 'em by, and wanting light
Bestow'dst them for some Gemm, as well thou might.
Or else amaz'd by th' lustre of her Face
Mistaking gav'st them for a Looking glass.
By this device would'st be a Cupid too.
A pleasant Plot i'faith! thou would'st be then
A pretty Boy of Fourscore years, and ten.
Or thou had'st laid 'em by, and wanting light
Bestow'dst them for some Gemm, as well thou might.
454
Mistaking gav'st them for a Looking glass.
Howe're, whether thou didst, or didst not see,
I wish in stead of them th' hadst given her me.
I wish in stead of them th' hadst given her me.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |