Small poems of Divers sorts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Great conquerour, you do a wrong
Unto your judgement, to compare
Poor Emma (in your amorous song)
To Ladies so renown'd and fair.
The hair that grows upon my head
I have no cause to glory in;
It is as brown as is my bread,
And can (I hope) tempt none to sin.
My clothes are homely as my form,
I wear them but to keep me warm.

9

My humble eies (when I am up)
To read my office are employ'd,
And unto house-affaires to look,
And not to gaze abroad in pride.

271

I hope no wanton beams they cast
To work to any an unease:
Therefore my nose needs not be plac'd
As Constable to keep the peace.
My clothes are homely, &c.

3

My lips will serve a country wench,
So also will my northern tongue;
It with my heart agrees in sense,
What I think speaking, and no wrong.
My teeth are like to other girls,
Nor even, nor white, but in the mean:
I know they are but bones, not pearls,
And slut I were, were they not clean.
My clothes are homely, &c.

4

My ears will serve to do the part
Which nature did designe them for;
The love of vertue's in my heart,
And to hear lewdness I abhor.
I wonder why my neck you praise;
As other maidens are so 's it:
So is my breast, which I adaies
Use to weare cover'd, as is fit.
My clothes are homely, &c.

5

My hands employ'd in houswifries,
To sow, to spin, or else to card;
Cannot be soft, not being nice,
And 't is no shame to have them hard.

272

Such is poor Emma, and no better,
VVhom (royal Sir) you so commend:
And I beseech you therefore let her
Her poor life in plain truth to end.
My clothes are homely, &c.

6

Let not your fancy be unkind
Unto your self, ill thoughts to raise:
My wearied body at night doth find
A bed of flocks or straw alwaies.
My other parts you please to name
Are ordinary as the rest;
And I in truth do blush for shame
To hear them so by you exprest.
My clothes are homely, &c.

7

I cannot from my tears refrain
To hear you tax virginity:
How many martyr'd virgins reign
In heaven for keeping chastity!
And (in the dark Abyss below)
How many wretched souls do grone,
For slighting here their honour so,
As heathens have far better done!
My clothes are homely, &c.

8

I hope I never shall become
Ungracious in so a high a wise,
To prostitute to any one
A jewel heaven so much doth prize:

273

If I (to please my friends) should wed
To any honest neighbours child,
I am resolv'd the marriage-bed
To keep (my life through) undefil'd.
Though me then better clothes transform,
Ile wear them but to keep me warm.