 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
The praise of his Mistris.
Admire no more those downy breasts,
Where Candors pure Elixir rests.
Praise not the blushings of the Rose,
Which th' Mornings mantle doth disclose:
Nor subtile Lillies which out-vie
Calcining arts choice Chymistry.
Let none extoll the milky way,
Where night vies splendor with the day.
Nor pearls within Confinement keep,
More treasure then what paves the deep.
For if my Mistris but appears,
The sullied snow turns black with tears:
Swans seem to wear the veil of night,
And blushing Lillies lose their white:
The bashful Roses drooping die,
Bequeathing her their fragrancy.
The Galaxie check'd in her pride,
A sable Cloud doth mourning hide.
Ambitious pearl mounts to her ear,
And is made rich by being there.
And as we see the twinkling fire
Spangling heav'ns Canopy retire,
When Sol enamelling doth display
His gildings to inaurate day:
Thus meaner beauties patches are,
Spots, nay foils to make her fair.
These lesser lights dimm'd by her eye,
Twinkle, go out in stench, and die.
If you would know who this may be;
I neither know, nor eye e're see.
Where Candors pure Elixir rests.
Praise not the blushings of the Rose,
Which th' Mornings mantle doth disclose:
Nor subtile Lillies which out-vie
Calcining arts choice Chymistry.
72
Where night vies splendor with the day.
Nor pearls within Confinement keep,
More treasure then what paves the deep.
For if my Mistris but appears,
The sullied snow turns black with tears:
Swans seem to wear the veil of night,
And blushing Lillies lose their white:
The bashful Roses drooping die,
Bequeathing her their fragrancy.
The Galaxie check'd in her pride,
A sable Cloud doth mourning hide.
Ambitious pearl mounts to her ear,
And is made rich by being there.
And as we see the twinkling fire
Spangling heav'ns Canopy retire,
When Sol enamelling doth display
His gildings to inaurate day:
Thus meaner beauties patches are,
Spots, nay foils to make her fair.
These lesser lights dimm'd by her eye,
Twinkle, go out in stench, and die.
If you would know who this may be;
I neither know, nor eye e're see.
Sure Iris onely must my Mistris prove;
The Rainbow hath no colour I can't love.
The Rainbow hath no colour I can't love.
| Poesis Rediviva | |