 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
TO Mrs. BEHN, ON THE PUBLISHING HER POEMS.
Madam,
Long has Wit's injur'd Empire been opprest
By Rhiming Fools, this Nations common Jest,
And sunk beneath the weight of heavy states,
In Tory Ballads and Whig Epitaphs;
The Ogs and Doegs reign'd, nay Baxter's zeal,
Has not been wanting too in writing Ill;
Yet still in spight of what the dull can doe,
'Tis here asserted and adorn'd by you.
This Book come forth, their credit must decay,
Ill Spirits vanish at th'approach of day:
And justly we before your envy'd feet,
There where our Hearts are due our Pens submit;
Ne'er to resume the baffled things again,
Unless in Songs of Triumph to thy Name;
Which are outdone by every Verse of thine,
Where thy own Fame does with more lustre shine,
Than all that we can give who in thy Praises join
Fair as the face of Heaven, when no thick Cloud
Or darkning Storm the glorious prospect shroud;
In all its beauteous parts shines thy bright style,
And beyond Humane Wit commedns thy skill;
With all the thought and vigour of our Sex
The moving softness of your own you mix.
The Queen of Beauty and the God of Wars
Imbracing lie in thy due temper'd Verse,
Venus her sweetness and the force of Mars.
Thus thy luxuriant Muse her pleasure takes,
As God of old in Eden's blissfull walks;
The Beauties of her new Creation view'd,
Full of content She sees that it is good.
By Rhiming Fools, this Nations common Jest,
And sunk beneath the weight of heavy states,
In Tory Ballads and Whig Epitaphs;
The Ogs and Doegs reign'd, nay Baxter's zeal,
Has not been wanting too in writing Ill;
Yet still in spight of what the dull can doe,
'Tis here asserted and adorn'd by you.
This Book come forth, their credit must decay,
Ill Spirits vanish at th'approach of day:
There where our Hearts are due our Pens submit;
Ne'er to resume the baffled things again,
Unless in Songs of Triumph to thy Name;
Which are outdone by every Verse of thine,
Where thy own Fame does with more lustre shine,
Than all that we can give who in thy Praises join
Fair as the face of Heaven, when no thick Cloud
Or darkning Storm the glorious prospect shroud;
In all its beauteous parts shines thy bright style,
And beyond Humane Wit commedns thy skill;
With all the thought and vigour of our Sex
The moving softness of your own you mix.
The Queen of Beauty and the God of Wars
Imbracing lie in thy due temper'd Verse,
Venus her sweetness and the force of Mars.
Thus thy luxuriant Muse her pleasure takes,
As God of old in Eden's blissfull walks;
The Beauties of her new Creation view'd,
Full of content She sees that it is good.
Come then you inspir'd Swains and join your Verse,
Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers;
But then your Song will best Apollo please,
When it is fraight with this his Favorite's praise.
Declare how when her learned Harp she strung,
Our joyfull Island with the Musick rung;
Descending Graces left their Heavenly seat,
To take their place in every Line she writ;
Where sweetest Charms as in her Person smile,
Her Face's Beauty's copy'd in her style.
Say how as she did her just skill improve
In the best Art and in soft Tales of Love.
Some well sung Passion with success she crown'd,
The melting Virgins languish'd at the sound.
And envying Swains durst not the Pipe inspire,
They'd nothing then to doe but to admire.
Shepherds and Nymphs, to Pan direct your Prayer,
If peradventure he your Vows will hear,
To make you sing, and make you look like her.
But, Nymphs and Swains, your hopes are all in vain,
For such bright Eyes, and such a tunefull Pen.
Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers;
But then your Song will best Apollo please,
When it is fraight with this his Favorite's praise.
Declare how when her learned Harp she strung,
Our joyfull Island with the Musick rung;
Descending Graces left their Heavenly seat,
To take their place in every Line she writ;
Where sweetest Charms as in her Person smile,
Her Face's Beauty's copy'd in her style.
Say how as she did her just skill improve
In the best Art and in soft Tales of Love.
The melting Virgins languish'd at the sound.
And envying Swains durst not the Pipe inspire,
They'd nothing then to doe but to admire.
Shepherds and Nymphs, to Pan direct your Prayer,
If peradventure he your Vows will hear,
To make you sing, and make you look like her.
But, Nymphs and Swains, your hopes are all in vain,
For such bright Eyes, and such a tunefull Pen.
How many of her Sex spend half their days,
To catch some Fool by managing a Face?
But she secure of charming has confin'd
Her wiser care t'adorn and dress the Mind.
Beauty may fade, but everlasting Verse
Exempts the better portion from the Hearse.
The matchless Wit and Fancy of the Fair,
Which moves our envy and our Sons despair.
Long they shall live a monument of her Fame,
And to Eternity extend her Name;
While After-times deservedly approve
The choicest object of this Ages Love.
For when they reade, ghessing how far she charm'd,
With that bright Body with such Wit inform'd;
They will give heed and credit to our Verse,
When we the Wonders of her Face rehearse.
To catch some Fool by managing a Face?
But she secure of charming has confin'd
Her wiser care t'adorn and dress the Mind.
Beauty may fade, but everlasting Verse
Exempts the better portion from the Hearse.
The matchless Wit and Fancy of the Fair,
Which moves our envy and our Sons despair.
Long they shall live a monument of her Fame,
And to Eternity extend her Name;
While After-times deservedly approve
The choicest object of this Ages Love.
For when they reade, ghessing how far she charm'd,
With that bright Body with such Wit inform'd;
They will give heed and credit to our Verse,
When we the Wonders of her Face rehearse.
J. Cooper.
Buckden, Nov. 25. 1683.
| Poems upon several occasions | |