 | Wishes to a godson |  |
To Madam N.
Fair Innocence, in whose sweet looks appear,Such sprightliness, and so much modest fear;
Tell me what jarring Witchcraft reigns within
That can both tempt us, and forbid to Sin?
Some strange harmonious discord rules your Eyes,
For there, an Army of young Cupids lies;
But close to them a Cross-grain'd Goddess clings,
That, as they strive to mount, witholds their Wings.
11
Some secret Wishes in that Heav'nly Face;
There I can read that in despight of Art,
Early or late you will reveal your Heart;
When mighty Love shall seize on Modesty,
Force her to let his little Archers fly;
That shall, assisted by your own desire,
Set the grave Deity's strong Camp on Fire;
Till all her Tents a blaze, she ill quit her ground,
And be no where, but in your Blushes found;
Then shall those shining Orbs emit their store,
Of active brightness that was hid before;
Thrice happy he, that shall behold them kind,
Tho' using all their pow'r to strike him blind!
What raptures of the Soul must not ensue,
When in tumultuous Joy a balmy dew,
12
At random darted, dazle out his sight.
Whilst lost in Pleasure on each others Breast
Strugling you'll seem in murmurs to contest,
Which shall die first to make the others blest.
| Wishes to a godson | |