VI. The Encomium.
1
Reach me a golden pen that writes
Such curious Raptures as the Court affords;
Such dainty Language as delights
Ladies saluted by their sprightly Lords:
Such as may paint the feature of Adonis,
Or tell a blind man how serene the Sun is.
2
Oh 'tis my dear, the subject now
Wherein to sport my sporting Muse incites me;
And 'tis the splendour of her brow;
Whose fair reflexes on my Muse inlights me.
Bright Star of Majesty, methinks I see
The Gods and Angels strive to worship thee.
3
So sweet a lip, so pure a cheek,
Such graces seated in her chrystall eye,
As Paris might in Helen seek;
Such food in Juno Jove did ne're enjoy:
Tongues must be silent, phrases are too light,
Textor can teach us no such Epithet.
4
Therefore I must content my passion,
That now is grown so furious and so proud,
Not with my pen, but speculation;
And this must be too through some velvet cloud:
For if I see her clear whom I adore,
Her beams will blind me, I shall see no more.
