A Poem describing the leuitie of a woman: reseruing all generous respect to the vertuously affected of that Sexe.
First
I feare not to offend,
A very thing of nothing,
Yet whom thus farre I commend,
She's lighter then her clothing:
Nay from the foote vnto the crowne,
Her very Fan will weigh her downe:
And marke how all things with her Sexe agree,
For all her vertues are as light as she.
1
She chats and chants but ayre,
A windie vertue for the eare,
T'is lighter farre then care,
And yet her songs do burthens beare.
2
She dances, that's but mouing,
No heauie vertue here she changes,
And as her heart in louing,
So her feete in constant ranges.
3
She softly leanes on strings,
She strikes the trembling lute and quauers:
These are no weightie things,
Her strokes are light, so are her fauours.
Those are her vertues fitting to her kind,
No sooner showne, but they turnd all to wind.
4
Then to you, O Sexe of fethers,
On whose browes sit all the wethers,
I send my Passion weau'd in rimes,
To weigh downe these light emptie times.
Descript.
What
are you, O heires of scorning,
But like Dew that melts each morning;
Euening vapours, and nights prize,
To answer our voluptuous eyes:
And but to screene that sinnes delight,
I thinke there neuer had bene night.
Nor had we bene from vertue so exempt,
But that the tempter did leaue you to tempt.
You bit the Apple first that makes vs die,
Wheres'ere we looke the apple's in our eye,
And death must gather it; for your turn'd breath,
And mortall teeth e'en to the core strucke death.
FINIS.
