Men-Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

When thy Disease seem'd vanquisht and blown o're,
Fresh Tempests seiz'd thee in the sight of shore;
And while our Treasure neare the Haven stood,
It was surprized by a Sea of bloud.
The Vessell thus, though freed from th' boistrous gale,
May sinke ith' streame, which gave it pow'r to saile.
Now in thy Shipwracke w' are depriv'd of all,
But thy faire story and thy lingring fall.
Then having suffer'd more then we could feare,
Like men growne Poore, count we how Rich we were.

Thy Shape was such, it Natures care did aske,
When she resolv'd to put her Art to taske;
With Rule, and Line in hand, she did beget
Thy frame, the curious wonder of her sweat.
When she, if one rude Atome durst creepe in,
Unravell'd all, and weav'd thee o're agen:
Till every Limbe she nicely did digest,
Proportion'd in it selfe, then to the rest.
That parts with parts compar'd, they might confesse,
The strict peice knew no want, nor no excesse.
Twas not a frame compos'd to shift, and lurke,
Ith' Crowd and Huddle of her common worke,

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A thing allow'd upon her carelesse score,
Something to passe for Woman, and no more.
Nor yet a fading Peice of seven-yeares Red,
And then the Rose must be retir'd and dead.
Such empty wares are Natures sport, and scoffe,
To catch our eyes, and to be soone sold off.
Natures Sale-Beauties, which she oft sets forth,
More for her Trade and Custome, then their worth.
But this so subtly wrought, that it might suite
Lesse with the Makers Gaine then her Repute.
A standing peice to fame, where every part,
Was cast by Precept and severest Art.
Not that a Lippe, or an Eyes sparkes abound,
But one just feature might embrace it round.

In all his Statues Phidias carv'd some grace,
But in Minerva's every part was face.
But outward Lustre leaves us yet ith' darke,
We passe by Sappe, while we adore the Barke.
For having knowne thy soule, w' have judged since,
The Court was Rich, but meaner then the Prince.
Witnesse thy Judgements cleare discerning sight,
Not did thy Sexe draw Curtaines 'twixt the Light,
But all, as through deepe Masculine search did passe,
And to be Woman, did not dimme the Glasse.

Eagles with Eagles thus to th' Sun doe fly,
Yet none knowes Male from Female, by their Ey.

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Next, thy chast love to be exprest alone
By thy deare husband, and by him in's Groane.
A losse so wail'd he onely may comprize,
Who drew the Vaile before the mourners eyes.

But beyond all, that which doth cheifely prove
Thy Glory here, and is thy Crowne above,
Was thy devoutest zeale, which did prepare,
Perfumed Clouds to waft thee to thy Pray'r.
That constant heate did so alone controule,
It busied all the motions of thy soule;
No thought could travaile Undisclaim'd, and ev'n,
Unlesse dispatcht Embassadour to heaven.
Eyes fixt above, but yet no glave might part,
But for its guide and convoy tooke the Heart.
Exalted hands still waving, and possess't,
To take downe blessings, or lift up Requests;
And knees so frequent with the Pavement meet,
Thou hadst almost unlearnt the use of feet.
And like the pious Man with zeale oft try'd,
Thy tender skin had kneel'd it selfe to hide.

Now, as Heaven's streights were to thy selfe un-barr'd,
So couldst thou steere our voyage by thy Card.
And midst all Tempests, knowing where to land,
Couldst teach us how to shun the Rockes and Sand.
Hence thy discerning Husband still doth say,
He wants his Pilot, though he knowes his way.

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When thou dost limme her then, Apelles, paint
Best Woman, Wife, and the Devoutest Saint.