 | Poems |  |
On a Gentlewoman struct blind with the small Pox.
What have we poor unhappie Mortalls done,Such an Eclipse is cast o're beauties sun?
What? was this cloud let loose to veile its light,
'Cause it too much astonish'd our dull sight?
Or did some goddesse, fearing we might pay
A Superstitious homage to each ray,
This beauties eyes powr'd forth, become unkind,
And to prevent this tribute strike her blind?
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Blinded by too much light their lustre see?
Or has Iove fixt them in the starrie Sphere,
To shine by night, as they by day shone here?
If so; no more let lovers from afarre
Court the loose aspect of the Cyprian starre;
Nor let the erring Mariner no more
Worship the Lædan starres, nor yet implore
With volleyes of loud sighs, they would dispence
From their kind Orb propitious influence:
For her refulgent sparkling eyes, that were
On earth, the brightest stars in beauties Sphere,
And shone with such a clear and constant light,
That Our Horizon was by them made bright,
Shine forth in heaven, a Constellation, now,
And will, from their auspitious Orb, endow
Lovers with such mild influxe, at their birth,
That heaven they've found above, they'l find on earth;
And to the Saylor that has lost his way
'Mongst the wild Alpes and Deserts of the Sea,
Dart such cleare beams that they shall steer him right,
So that hee'l need no Pilot, but their light.
| Poems | |