Poems on Several Occasions Written by Charles Cotton |
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Resolution in four Sonnets, of a Poetical Question put to me by a Friend, concerning four Rural Sisters.
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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Resolution in four Sonnets, of a Poetical Question put to me by a Friend, concerning four Rural Sisters.
Sonnet. I.
[Alice is tall and upright as a Pine]
Alice
is tall and upright as a Pine,
White as blaunch'd Almonds, or the falling Snow,
Sweet as are Damask Roses when they blow,
And doubtless fruitful as the swelling Vine.
White as blaunch'd Almonds, or the falling Snow,
Sweet as are Damask Roses when they blow,
And doubtless fruitful as the swelling Vine.
Ripe to be cut, and ready to be press'd,
Her full cheek'd beauties very well appear,
And a year's fruit she loses e'ery year,
Wanting a man t'improve her to the best.
Her full cheek'd beauties very well appear,
And a year's fruit she loses e'ery year,
Wanting a man t'improve her to the best.
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Full fain she would be husbanded, and yet,
Alass! she cannot a fit Lab'rer get
To cultivate her to her own content:
Alass! she cannot a fit Lab'rer get
To cultivate her to her own content:
Fain would she be (God wot) about her task,
And yet (forsooth) she is too proud to ask,
And (which is worse) too modest to consent.
And yet (forsooth) she is too proud to ask,
And (which is worse) too modest to consent.
Sonnet. II.
[Marg'ret of humbler stature by the head]
Marg'ret
of humbler stature by the head
Is (as it oft falls out with yellow hair)
Than her fair Sister, yet so much more fair,
As her pure white is better mixt with red.
Is (as it oft falls out with yellow hair)
Than her fair Sister, yet so much more fair,
As her pure white is better mixt with red.
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This, hotter than the other ten to one,
Longs to be put unto her Mothers trade,
And loud proclaims she lives too long a Maid,
Wishing for one t'untie her Virgin Zone.
Longs to be put unto her Mothers trade,
And loud proclaims she lives too long a Maid,
Wishing for one t'untie her Virgin Zone.
She finds Virginity a kind of ware
That's very very troublesome to bear,
And being gone, she thinks will ne'er be mist:
That's very very troublesome to bear,
And being gone, she thinks will ne'er be mist:
And yet withall the Girl has so much grace,
To call for help I know she wants the face,
Though ask'd, I know not how she would resist.
To call for help I know she wants the face,
Though ask'd, I know not how she would resist.
Sonnet. III.
[Mary is black, and taller than the last]
Mary
is black, and taller than the last
Yet equal in perfection and desire,
To the one's melting snow, and t'other's fire,
As with whose black their fairness is defac'd:
Yet equal in perfection and desire,
To the one's melting snow, and t'other's fire,
As with whose black their fairness is defac'd:
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She pants as much for love as th' other two,
But she so vertuous is, or else so wise,
That she will win or will not love a prize,
And but upon good terms will never doe:
But she so vertuous is, or else so wise,
That she will win or will not love a prize,
And but upon good terms will never doe:
Therefore who her will conquer ought to be
At least as full of love and wit as she,
Or he shall ne'er gain favour at her hands:
At least as full of love and wit as she,
Or he shall ne'er gain favour at her hands:
Nay, though he have a pretty store of brains,
Shall only have his labour for his pains,
Unless he offer more than she demands.
Shall only have his labour for his pains,
Unless he offer more than she demands.
Sonnet. IV.
[Martha is not so tall, nor yet so fair]
Martha
is not so tall, nor yet so fair
As any of the other lovely three,
Her chiefest Grace is poor simplicity,
Yet were the rest away, she were a Star.
As any of the other lovely three,
Her chiefest Grace is poor simplicity,
Yet were the rest away, she were a Star.
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She's fair enough, only she wants the art
To set her Beauties off as they can doe,
And that's the cause she ne'er heard any woo,
Nor ever yet made conquest of a heart:
To set her Beauties off as they can doe,
And that's the cause she ne'er heard any woo,
Nor ever yet made conquest of a heart:
And yet her bloud's as boiling as the best,
Which, pretty soul, does so disturb her rest,
And makes her languish so, she's fit to die.
Which, pretty soul, does so disturb her rest,
And makes her languish so, she's fit to die.
Poor thing, I doubt she still must lie alone,
For being like to be attack'd by none,
Sh'as no more wit to ask than to deny.
For being like to be attack'd by none,
Sh'as no more wit to ask than to deny.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |