 | A Collection of Poems |  |
To Florinda.
Written on her LOOKING-GLASS.
Here CUPID learns to Point his Darts,To pierce our Breasts, and wound our Hearts;
While you, Florinda, practise here,
Or crisp the Coif, or plait the Hair,
Or teach th' enchanting Eyes to roll,
And shoot yourself into the Soul,
84
You furnish CUPID with his Snares:
Your flutt'ring Pendents are his Wings,
The Plaits his Nests, your Hair his Strings,
His Bows your Eye-Brows, and your Eyes
Are, each the killing-Dart that flies.
| A Collection of Poems | |