 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
On Clelia's Picture.
Do'st not thou see this Picture set,
Round with the Rose and Violet,
Crown'd with the Garlands of the Spring,
And Looks that might entice a King?
And can thy Eye find any place
To gaze upon, but on this Face?
Do'st not thou see that sparkling Eye
Inflam'd with Love and Majesty;
Those tempting Lips, than which to kiss,
I cou'd not hope a greater bliss;
Those lovely Cheeks, nay, every Part
Not able to be prais'd by Art;
And ask me whom it represents?
My Life, my Soul, my blest Contents.
'Tis Clelia's Shaddow, which her Eye
Reflected here as she past by.
To which, as 'tis her due, I pay
A thousand Offerings a Day.
And now, methinks, I cease to blame
The Ethnicks, who did Idols frame,
If that among their Number they
Had any one like Clelia.
Round with the Rose and Violet,
Crown'd with the Garlands of the Spring,
And Looks that might entice a King?
And can thy Eye find any place
To gaze upon, but on this Face?
Do'st not thou see that sparkling Eye
Inflam'd with Love and Majesty;
Those tempting Lips, than which to kiss,
I cou'd not hope a greater bliss;
Those lovely Cheeks, nay, every Part
Not able to be prais'd by Art;
And ask me whom it represents?
My Life, my Soul, my blest Contents.
'Tis Clelia's Shaddow, which her Eye
Reflected here as she past by.
To which, as 'tis her due, I pay
A thousand Offerings a Day.
And now, methinks, I cease to blame
The Ethnicks, who did Idols frame,
If that among their Number they
Had any one like Clelia.
60
My Friend John Clement t'other day,
Was very Sick and like to dye,
And, as 'twas thought, did only stay
To bare Tom Flavel company.
Was very Sick and like to dye,
And, as 'twas thought, did only stay
To bare Tom Flavel company.
He made his Will, and all his Lands
By Testament were mine to spend,
And soon had come into my Hands,
If death, like him, had been my Friend.
By Testament were mine to spend,
And soon had come into my Hands,
If death, like him, had been my Friend.
But, curse upon it, unawares
That Wicked Rogue Tom Flavel dy'd,
At which my Friend John Clement swears
The Rascal did it out of Pride.
That Wicked Rogue Tom Flavel dy'd,
At which my Friend John Clement swears
The Rascal did it out of Pride.
With that he bid 'em fill his Grave,
And (truly) swore he would not dye,
Since the unlucky peevish Slave
Had slighted thus his Company.
And (truly) swore he would not dye,
Since the unlucky peevish Slave
Had slighted thus his Company.
So I, who half an hour ago
Built lofty Castles in the Air,
Did to my sorrow quickly know,
I was an Heir, not worth a Hair.
Built lofty Castles in the Air,
Did to my sorrow quickly know,
I was an Heir, not worth a Hair.
Heredem scripsit me Numa convaluit.
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