 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
284
To the same.
When some new rising Beauty fills
With Jealousy the Virgin Train,
Detraction vents the inbred Spleen,
And Whispers ease the Rival's Pain.
With Jealousy the Virgin Train,
Detraction vents the inbred Spleen,
And Whispers ease the Rival's Pain.
Not Myra so; with cruel Skill
She calls the Pencil to her Aid;
Defames the Fair in Effigy,
And Libels with satyrick Shade.
She calls the Pencil to her Aid;
Defames the Fair in Effigy,
And Libels with satyrick Shade.
Unable thus, with dazled Eyes
To bear the Sun's Meridian Beam,
With Pride the gazing Swain defies
His fainter Image in the Stream.
To bear the Sun's Meridian Beam,
With Pride the gazing Swain defies
His fainter Image in the Stream.
Beneath her figurative Hand
Cloe's all-matchless Beauties die,
And faintly languish at her Stroke
The little Loves in Cælia's Eye.
Cloe's all-matchless Beauties die,
And faintly languish at her Stroke
The little Loves in Cælia's Eye.
285
As Criticks o'er some ancient Page,
Injurious She to Beauty's Worth,
O'erlooks each bright diviner Grace,
And calls each Imperfection forth.
Injurious She to Beauty's Worth,
O'erlooks each bright diviner Grace,
And calls each Imperfection forth.
With Pity and with Anger mov'd,
The partial Likeness we deplore,
And wish the Picture we survey
Or less Resemblance had or more.
The partial Likeness we deplore,
And wish the Picture we survey
Or less Resemblance had or more.
But cease, fond Nymph, and ask thy Heart
If that such Injuries cou'd brook,
Should e'er thy beauteous Self be shown
Less killing by a single Look?
If that such Injuries cou'd brook,
Should e'er thy beauteous Self be shown
Less killing by a single Look?
Shou'd thy false Maid or ill-bred Glass,
One Dimple or one Smile bely,
Say, wou'd not Betty strait be chid,
Thy Mirrour thrown in Anger by?
One Dimple or one Smile bely,
Say, wou'd not Betty strait be chid,
Thy Mirrour thrown in Anger by?
Be then to ev'ry Rival just,
And since thy Lips disdain to wrong,
Let not thy gentle Hand revile,
But learn a Virtue from thy Tongue.
And since thy Lips disdain to wrong,
286
But learn a Virtue from thy Tongue.
'Twere nobler for each Rival Face
With more than native Charms to crown,
Thy utmost Art can ne'er pourtray
A Form more lovely than thy own.
With more than native Charms to crown,
Thy utmost Art can ne'er pourtray
A Form more lovely than thy own.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |