Poesis Rediviva or, Poesie Reviv'd. By John Collop |
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On a Blew Point given by a Lady on Valentines
day to her Valentine, and preach'd against by a Parson
who call'd it a Rag of Superstition.
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 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
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On a Blew Point given by a Lady on Valentines day to her Valentine, and preach'd against by a Parson who call'd it a Rag of Superstition.
Hence spout of zealous ignorance, in vainThou seek'st to taint true blew, 'twill never stain.
What a blew point the strumpets lace? Romes Rag?
Can'st think there's lesse Religion in each tag,
Then all the points you tenter into Uses?
While Codpiece zeal would point out hot abuses?
Your blewer pulpit stuff you did so disjoint,
I durst have swore you'd never come to th' point.
Both earth, air, heav'n, thee heretick could invite,
Could th' Saint once nam'd make thee no proselyte?
The day she gave't, wing'd Quiristers took the air,
And joyn'd to sing her praises pair and pair.
Her gift resembling Violets then appear,
Proud thus to usher sweetnesse into th' year.
Yet Birds can't reach her praise, Violets her sweet,
Nor tell what glories in her blew point meet.
Dost thou not see how th' blewer colour'd vein
Doth both our spirits, life, and souls contain?
Or dost not view how tinctur'd thus the sky
Shews all that's rich in heav'ns embroidery?
Or dost not know how purpled Judges sit,
As if they took their robes to vote for it?
Yet veins are uselesse vy'd, sky foul words weak,
To speak the gift, let th' Donor Angels speak.
Angels, ah Angels she's Seraphick sure,
Nature calcin'd her to that temperature.
Blew Garter Orders hence are vanish'd gone,
Blew points succeed, mists fly before the sun
By box and a blew point a wiser age
Surely could nothing lesse then this presage.
They who their thoughts do elevate with drink,
Fancy refin'd, nothing but blew can think.
| Poesis Rediviva | |