Streams from Helicon :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fair Corinna she doth rise,
Blushing like the Morning Skies;
Her Hair is as the streaming Gold:
(Half her Charms can ne'er be told)
All the Stars that's in the Skies,
Shine not like her peirceing Eyes.
In her Breasts the Lillie grows,
In her Cheeks the Summer's Rose;
How her Bosom gently moves,
Shining with the gloz of Doves:

Softer than the Down of Swans,
Is her Arms and her Hands;
Her Cloths doth greater Beauties shrow'd,
Than these which makes the Peacock proud.
Oh, Corinna's charming Fair!
Matchless in her Shape and Air;
'Twas such Beauty that did move,
Ovid in his Art of Love.
Looks like her's made Adam fall,
Beauty triumphs over all;
With her Brightness I'm undone,
Like Men gazing on the Sun:
Cruel Beauty haste away,
Or you'll kill me if you stay.

Now she looks unto the Glass,
Which doth all her Airs express;
I am ravish'd when I View,
Corinna multiply'd to Two.
O Corinna! hear my Pray'r,
You are Good as well as Fair;
Take no Patches, they'll do Harm,
Ev'ry Patch conceals a Charm:
Minor Beauties Patch and Paint,
'Tis because their Colour's faint;
Let them counterfeit the Rose,
To beguile a gleik of Beaux.
Pouder, curle and dy their Hair,
And affect a courtly Air;
Nature when she finish'd you,
Left Art nothing for to do.

Don't employ the cruel Fan,
Less than that hath kill'd a Man;
It's an Implement of Death,
When it cools you with it's Breath.
As Western Breezes makes the Rose,
All its Sweetness to disclose;
So the Fan spreads all the Flow'rs,
In that lovely Face of yours.
The Fan created first my Pain,
I was Dead, but liv'd again;
You can with the smallest Toy,
Which your Fingers doth employ,
Melt the Soul with rapt'rous Joy.

I'll another Favour ask,
Be not cover'd with a Mask;
Bless the World with your Face,
And expose your ev'ry Grace,
Wound and kill each Swain you see;
But reserve your Heart for me.