Poems on Various Subjects with some Essays in Prose, Letters to Correspondents, &c. and A Treatise on Health. By Samuel Bowden |
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AN ÆNIGMA. |
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 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
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AN ÆNIGMA.
Ye Ladys, whose enchanting eyes,
Outshine the beautys of the skys,
Forget awhile your chat and needle,
To find out this mysterious riddle.
Outshine the beautys of the skys,
Forget awhile your chat and needle,
To find out this mysterious riddle.
Inconstant is my mien and shape,
For I can various creatures ape:
And like old Proteus can transform
To mouse, or monkey, fly or worm.
From place to place I love to range:
My motion too is very strange.
I sometimes fly, and sometimes creep,
And travel most when others sleep:
Nay often to oblige my spark,
Perform long journeys in the dark;
And without whip, or spur can haste,
And make the dullest jade go fast.
In stormy nights I love to roam,
On wings of tempests far from home.
As hermits by their beards grow sage,
My power encreases with my age:
I still my largest empire hold,
When feeble, impotent and old.
And when my teeming days are o'er,
I often suckle as before.
Provok'd, much mischief oft' I do,
Proud kings my indignation rue.
I cattle bane, and beauty marr,
And shatter many a china jar.
Once in a mad, fanatic trance,
I drove the English out of France.
Fair ladys oft my power command,
With too severe, tyrannic hand.
For I can various creatures ape:
And like old Proteus can transform
To mouse, or monkey, fly or worm.
From place to place I love to range:
My motion too is very strange.
I sometimes fly, and sometimes creep,
And travel most when others sleep:
Nay often to oblige my spark,
Perform long journeys in the dark;
And without whip, or spur can haste,
And make the dullest jade go fast.
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On wings of tempests far from home.
As hermits by their beards grow sage,
My power encreases with my age:
I still my largest empire hold,
When feeble, impotent and old.
And when my teeming days are o'er,
I often suckle as before.
Provok'd, much mischief oft' I do,
Proud kings my indignation rue.
I cattle bane, and beauty marr,
And shatter many a china jar.
Once in a mad, fanatic trance,
I drove the English out of France.
Fair ladys oft my power command,
With too severe, tyrannic hand.
Now your bright fancy soon will guess
At what yourselves so much possess.
At what yourselves so much possess.
| Poems on Various Subjects | |