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On New-years day I 'spy'd my Madam;
She and the Year both in their prime,
More fresh, than was the Miss of Adam
Sprung from the Maiden-head of Time.

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Her Garments I will first disclose;
Then naked lay my blushing Queen,
The same procedure has the Rose;
First Leaves, and then the Bud is seen.

Her Hoods sometimes her Beauties hide;
Which custom may be well allow'd;
Since Sol's bright Face in all his pride,
Is often hid beyond a Cloud.

Her Visard-mask, that hides her face,
Declares more cruelty than state;
She looks as Beauty Prisoner was,
And peeping through a double grate.

Amongst her Curls she Jewels wears,
All glittering with those shining drops:
Which like Aurora's pearly Tears,
Sit trembling on the Lillies tops.

If we consider worth or state;
The Diamond neck-lace that she wears,
May challenge Ariadne's fate,
And turn into a wreath of Stars.

Her costly Points by Artists fram'd,
Like Wings of Cherubims imbrace
Her swelling Breasts; which once I nam'd
(Unjustly tho) the Mercy-place.

Her Gowns, tho rich, and worthy pride,
Lock up the beauties of her youth:
Like cloudy Parables that hide
The glorious majesty of Truth.

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Her Gloves are like the tender Rind
Of that rare Plant, that sweateth Balm,
The truth of this you'd quickly find,
If you but kist her melting Palm.

Through scarlet-stockins shines her Skin:
Light pierces thus red-painted Glasses.
Ten shining Pearls inclos'd within,
Are lockt up in those ruby Cases.

Her Shoos with envy I did prize,
And wish'd my self be so grac'd;
Stor'd with two pair of open Eyes,
For tempting objects rightly plac'd.

Her envious Smock tho hid my bliss:
Thus Snow strikes earnest gazers blind;
All may be seen when thaw'd it is
By Love, that Sun-shine of the Mind.

Her Beauties are cloath'd o're with light,
Not here expos'd to wild desires;
Such thoughts, the beams of vertue fright:
As rav'nous Beasts retreat from fires.

Her Hair may justly make her prouder
Than Queens who to their Crowns were born;
And looks when candy'd o're with powder,
Like Sun-beams in a rimy morn'.

A curious chrystal prop (her Nose)
Supports the Arches of her Skies.
Her Front the chrystalline Heaven shows,
Studded with shining Stars, her Eyes.

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Each Cheek like to a Roseal Grove,
Where thousand Cupids sporting lye;
Whetting their several Darts of Love;
Her Brows the Bows from whence they flye.

Her simpring Mouth such charms declare,
Which Rhetorick never could produce;
Her Lips, like full-ripe Cherries, are
Preserv'd in their own natural Juyce.

Her Breath more sweet than perfum'd gales,
That from Arabian Gardens blow;
Or those which sweep the Indian Vales,
Where Jasmins in their vigours grow.

Such treasures of her Breath and Tongue,
Ought not to be too much expos'd;
Hence Fate, to bulwark them from wrong,
With double fence of Pearls inclos'd.

Her Shoulders Beauty's Atlas are,
But coverd with a purer Snow;
And far a richer burden bear
Of Beauties, and of Glories too.

Her Breasts a pair of Ivory Bowls,
With Biasses of Rubies nail'd:
Or else two whitest Paper-scrouls,
Which Nature had with red-wax seal'd.

Beneath those Hills a Valley spread;
Where Violets and Lillies strove;
Through which a perfum'd Path did lead,
Directing to th' Elisian Grove.

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Her Back-side two round snowy Mountains,
Which 'twixt 'em did a Valley hide;
In which did spring a pair of Fountains,
Where Gold and Silver streams did glide.

Her Knees, I these rare Hinges named,
On which this beauteous Fabrick mov'd;
Her Thighs, the Columns strongly framed
On which my stately Temple stood.

Thus have I vowed, sworn, protested,
To lift my Mistris to the Sky;
Yet, cruel she, thinks I but jested;
And, by my troth, Sirs, so think I.