 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
Mr. N. R. V.
With him the lovely Philocless,His Beauty heightned by his Dress,
If any thing can add a Grace
To such a Shape, and such a Face,
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Enough without the help of Art.
His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair,
The Sun-Beams are not half so fair;
Of which the Virgins Bracelets make,
And wear for Philocless's sake:
His Beauty such, that one would swear
His Face did never take the Air.
On's Cheeks the blushing Roses show,
The rest like whitest Daisies grow:
His Lips, no Berries of the Field,
Nor Cherries, such a Red do yield.
His Eyes all Love, Soft'ning Smile;
And when he speaks, he sighs the while:
His Bashful Grace, with Blushes too,
Gains more then Confidence can do.
With all these Charms he does invade
The Heart, which when he has betray'd,
He slights the Trophies he has won,
And weeps for those he has Undone;
As if he never did intend
His Charms for so severe an End.
And all poor Amoret can Gain,
Is pitty from the Lovely Swain:
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Agreeable, 'tis so in him.
And when he meets Reproach for it,
He does excuse it with his Wit.
| Poems upon several occasions | |