University of Virginia Library

An Elegy.

['Tis true, I am undone; Yet e're I dye]

'Tis true, I am undone; Yet e're I dye,
I'le leave these sighes, and teares a legacye
To after-Lovers; that remembring me,
Those sickly flames which now benighted be,
Fann'd by their warmer sighs may love; and prove
In them the Metempsuchosis of Love.
'Twas I (when others scorn'd) vow'd you were fair,
And sware that breath enrich'd the courser aire,
Lent Roses to your cheekes, made Flora bring
Her Nymphs with all the glories of the Spring
To waite upon thy face, and gave my heart
A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart,
To arme those eyes against my selfe; to me
Thou owest that tongues bewitching harmonye:
I courted Angels from those upper joyes,
And made them leave their spheres to heare thy voice:
I made the Indian curse the houres he spent
To seeke his pearles, and wisely to repent
His former folly, and confesse a sinne
Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skinne.
I borrow'd from the winds, the gentler wing
Of Zephirus, and soft soules of the Spring:
And made (to ayre those cheeks wth fresher grace)
The warme Inspirers dwell upon thy face.