 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
On a Crooked Lady, M. V.
Sure Cupid of thy shoulders makes a bow,From whence fly love shafts wounding al thee know
See how the mimick Apes do shrug to bear
Resemblance with the bunch you carry there.
View how the supple hamm'd Dons cringing bend,
As by thy copy they their shapes would mend.
The enamell'd wardrobe of rich Nature view;
All drooping imitate, and bow like you.
The bashful Roses shrink into their beds;
Lillies in emulation hang down heads.
Lesse then Celestial sure you cannot be;
The sky embrod'ring Bowe resembles thee.
Heav'n onely thee a richer token bent,
And to inrich poor Mortals thee us sent;
That as the Rainbowe token is of love;
Earth may have one below, as heav'n above.
Hence as by age to heav'n we nearer grow,
Age what thy youth arrives to lends a bowe.
77
To th' period of thy praise no pen can come.
| Poesis Rediviva | |