The Mistress.
1
When Nature heard Men thought her old,
Her Skill in beauteous forms decay'd,
Her Eies grown dimme, and Fingers cold,
Then to her Poet thus she said?
2
Catch as it falls the Scythian Snow
Bring blushing Roses steep'd in Milk;
From early Medows Sent and Show,
And from the Persian Worm her Silk.
3
Fetch from the East the Mornings breath;
And from the Phœnix Gummes and Spice,
Such as she calls when at her Death,
The World does smell her sacrifice.
4
Nature of these a Mistress made;
But would have form'd a Lover too;
And such as might this Nimph perswade,
To all that Love for Love should do.
5
This second work she well began,
With leisure, and by slow degrees;
But found it hard to make a Man,
That could so choice a Beauty please.
6
She wrought, and wrought, and then gave o're;
Then did another Model try;
But less contented then before,
She layd the work for ever by.
7
I askt the cause, and strait she sayd;
'Tis very possible I find,
To match the Body which I made,
But I can never fit her Mind.
8
For that still various seems and strange;
And since all Lovers various be,
And apt as Mistresses to change,
I cannot make my work agree.
9
Now Sexes meet not by design
When they the Worlds chief work advance;
But in the dark they sometimes joyn,
As wand'ring Attoms meet by chance.
10
Goddess, I cry'd, pray pardon me!
You little know our Lovers Hearts.
The Devil take 'em! they agree!
And, Nature failing, want no Arts.
