Poems or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson |
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Upon John Robinson, a pretty Witty Boy, that never Suckt.
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 | Poems |  |
Upon John Robinson, a pretty Witty Boy, that never Suckt.
See here what rarely comes to pass,A Babe that never Suckling was.
No Milk did ever Him refresh,
But such as he might eat, the flesh:
His Mothers breast oft made him quiet;
Yet, as his Pillow, not his Diet.
His Infancy He so out-ran,
That Adam like, He was born Man.
Within a Year, or such a Space
His Feet and Tongue kept equal pace;
His Understanding, had it room,
Had spoken in his Mothers Womb.
Where he in silence liv'd, until
His Organs cou'd pronounce his will.
7
A lively Landskip of the Spring.
He that for June or July seeks,
No Almanack needs, but his cheeks;
When brisker Rayes shoot from his Eyes,
'Tis May, and April when he cries.
For roundness, and complexion,
His Face is just an Apple-John.
His Locks are Gold, and every Haire,
Nature has curl'd into a snare.
His Body is all over bright,
As Pelop's shoulder, Heavenly white;
And as it is as white as Milk,
It is again as soft as Silk.
Say, have ye not in Temples seen
The Pourtraict of a Cherubin?
Suffice it, though ye know him not,
You have his very Picture got.
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