 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
30
TO A LADY
Going to bathe in the Sea.
Venus, most Histories agree,
Sprang from the Ferment of the Sea;
Yet I confess I'm always loth
To think such Beauty was but Froth;
Or, that the Ocean, which more odd is,
Should from a Bubble spawn a Goddess.
Tho' hence, my Laura, learned Fellows,
Of such its wond'rous pow'rs still tell us,
That ev'ry Mother brings her Daughter
To dip in this specific Water,
Expecting from the briny wave
Charms which it once to Venus gave.
Sprang from the Ferment of the Sea;
Yet I confess I'm always loth
To think such Beauty was but Froth;
Or, that the Ocean, which more odd is,
Should from a Bubble spawn a Goddess.
Tho' hence, my Laura, learned Fellows,
Of such its wond'rous pow'rs still tell us,
That ev'ry Mother brings her Daughter
To dip in this specific Water,
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Charms which it once to Venus gave.
These charms, my Laura, strive to gain;
And that you may not bathe in vain
I'll here, as well as I am able,
Give you a Moral to this Fable.
And that you may not bathe in vain
I'll here, as well as I am able,
Give you a Moral to this Fable.
Would you a Goddess reign o'er all?
From the wide Flood its virtues call;
Free from each stain your bosom keep,
Clear be it as this azure Deep,
Which no capricious passion knows,
But duly ebbs, and duly flows;
Tho' sometimes ruffled, calm'd as soon,
Still constant to its faithful Moon,
At whose dear sight with Pride it swells,
And to each Shore its chaste Love tells:
Heedless of ev'ry change of weather
That wafts a straw, or coxcomb-feather,
Which only on the Surface play,
And unobserv'd are wash'd away.
From the wide Flood its virtues call;
Free from each stain your bosom keep,
Clear be it as this azure Deep,
Which no capricious passion knows,
But duly ebbs, and duly flows;
Tho' sometimes ruffled, calm'd as soon,
Still constant to its faithful Moon,
At whose dear sight with Pride it swells,
And to each Shore its chaste Love tells:
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That wafts a straw, or coxcomb-feather,
Which only on the Surface play,
And unobserv'd are wash'd away.
Reflect, that lodg'd within its breast
The modest Pearl delights to rest,
Thence charms us by its virgin white,
Or pours its Blushes on our sight.
In Yours, thus ever may we trace
Each tempting Charm, each blushing Grace;
To these let Judgment value give,
And in that seat of Beauty live.
The modest Pearl delights to rest,
Thence charms us by its virgin white,
Or pours its Blushes on our sight.
In Yours, thus ever may we trace
Each tempting Charm, each blushing Grace;
To these let Judgment value give,
And in that seat of Beauty live.
This Moral keep before your eyes,
Plunge—and a New-born Venus rise.
Plunge—and a New-born Venus rise.
| The poetical works of George Keate | |