Marinda Poems and Translations upon Several Occasions [by Mary Monck] |
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Masque of Country Lasses.
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Masque of Country Lasses.
From Guarini.
We are the Fairest of our Plains,Courted in vain by rustick Swains,
We neither crisp, nor tinge our Hair,
Nor paint our Cheeks to make us Fair,
But all to Nature's Bounty owe;
She makes these Golden Ringlets flow,
These Lillies shine, these Roses glow.
The Dew untouch'd by Phœbus' Beam,
A bubling Spring, or purling Stream,
Our Necks with whitest Snow adorns,
With Beauties brighter than the Morn's;
The Morn, with whom each Day we rise,
Whilst heavy Sleep clouds others Eyes:
Our Look's the Image of our Mind,
Both pure and clear; no Fraud you'll find,
No Syrens Song, whose treach'rous Lay
Does first entice, and after slay:
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Treasures best hid in Poverty;
No Market here we ever hold,
Where Beauty's to be bought and sold.
No gilded pompous Shews appear
To cheat th'unwary Customer,
But Love, for Love, is all the Traffick here.
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