Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
 |
|
| 1. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 2. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 3. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | Pia Desideria |  |
105
VI.
O let my Heart be sound in thy Statutes, that I be not ashamed,
Psal. cxix. 89.
Cou'd I but hope my Face wou'd please my Dear,
That shou'd be all my Bus'ness, all my Care:
My first Concern shou'd for Complexion be,
The next, to keep my Skin from Freckles free:
No help of Art, or Industry I'd want,
No Beauty-water, or improving Paint,
My Dressing-boxes shou'd with Charms abound,
To make decay'd Old Flesh seem Young and Sound:
With Spanish-wool, red as the Blooming Rose,
And Cerusse, whiter than the Mountain Snows:
With all the Arts that studious Virgins know,
Who on their Beauty too much Pains bestow.
Then I'd correct each Error by my Glass,
Till not one Fault were found in all my Face.
If on my Brow one Hair amiss I spy'd,
That very Hair shou'd soon be rectify'd.
If dull my Eyes, how loudly I'd complain
Till they their wonted Lustre wore again.
Shou'd but one Wrinkle in my Face appear,
I'd cry, What means this swacy Wrinkle here?
Ev'n with each Mole t'offend thee I shou'd fear,
Cou'd I but think this Face to thee were dear.
For if the smallest Wart thereon shou'd rise,
I doubt t'wou'd seem a Mountain in your Eyes.
Nay, the least Fault my self wou'd Censure too,
For fear that Fault shou'd be dislik'd by you.
Thus every Grace which Nature has deny'd,
By Art's kind help shou'd amply be supply'd:
With Curls and Locks I wou'd adorn my Head,
And thick with Jewels my gay Tresses spread:
With double Pearls I'd hang my loaded Ears,
Whilst my white Neck vast Chains of Rubies wears.
Thus I among the Fairest wou'd be seen,
And dare vie Beauty, ev'n with Sheba's Queen.
That shou'd be all my Bus'ness, all my Care:
My first Concern shou'd for Complexion be,
The next, to keep my Skin from Freckles free:
No help of Art, or Industry I'd want,
No Beauty-water, or improving Paint,
My Dressing-boxes shou'd with Charms abound,
To make decay'd Old Flesh seem Young and Sound:
With Spanish-wool, red as the Blooming Rose,
And Cerusse, whiter than the Mountain Snows:
With all the Arts that studious Virgins know,
Who on their Beauty too much Pains bestow.
Then I'd correct each Error by my Glass,
Till not one Fault were found in all my Face.
If on my Brow one Hair amiss I spy'd,
That very Hair shou'd soon be rectify'd.
If dull my Eyes, how loudly I'd complain
Till they their wonted Lustre wore again.
106
I'd cry, What means this swacy Wrinkle here?
Ev'n with each Mole t'offend thee I shou'd fear,
Cou'd I but think this Face to thee were dear.
For if the smallest Wart thereon shou'd rise,
I doubt t'wou'd seem a Mountain in your Eyes.
Nay, the least Fault my self wou'd Censure too,
For fear that Fault shou'd be dislik'd by you.
Thus every Grace which Nature has deny'd,
By Art's kind help shou'd amply be supply'd:
With Curls and Locks I wou'd adorn my Head,
And thick with Jewels my gay Tresses spread:
With double Pearls I'd hang my loaded Ears,
Whilst my white Neck vast Chains of Rubies wears.
Thus I among the Fairest wou'd be seen,
And dare vie Beauty, ev'n with Sheba's Queen.
But oh! no such vain Toys affect your Mind,
These meet with no Admirers, but the Blind,
Who in a Dress seek Objects of their Love,
Which once put off, the Beauties too remove.
Thus the fond Crowd's caught by a gay Attire,
The only Thing indeed they find t'admrie.
These meet with no Admirers, but the Blind,
Who in a Dress seek Objects of their Love,
Which once put off, the Beauties too remove.
Thus the fond Crowd's caught by a gay Attire,
The only Thing indeed they find t'admrie.
But You, my Love, no borrow'd Beauties prize,
No artificial Charms, attract your Eyes.
Dear as your own, you rate a spotless Heart,
And for its sake accept each other Part.
No artificial Charms, attract your Eyes.
107
And for its sake accept each other Part.
Oh that my Heart unspotted were, and free
From every Tincture of impurity!
Then in your favour I shou'd make my Boast.
And hate each Stain by which it might be lost.
From every Tincture of impurity!
Then in your favour I shou'd make my Boast.
And hate each Stain by which it might be lost.
O base and filthy Spots, why do you stick so long? Be gone, depart, and presume no more to offend my Beloved's Sight.
Hugo de S. Vict. in Arrha animæ.
| Pia Desideria | |