 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
122
Old Tityrus to Eugenia.
I
Eugenia young, and fair, and sweet,The Glories of the Plains,
In thee alone the Graces meet
To conquer all the Swains:
Tall as the Poplar of the Grove,
Streight as the winged shaft of Love,
As the Spring's early Blossoms white,
Soft as the Kisses of the light,
Serene and modest as the Morn,
E'er Vapors doe from Fens arise,
To dim the Glory of the Skies,
Untainted, or with Pride, or Scorn,
T'oblige the World, bright Nymph, thou sure wast born.
123
II
O! be still fair, thou charming Maid,For Beauty is no Crime;
May thy Youth's Flower never fade,
But still be in its prime:
Be calm, and clear, and modest still,
Oblige as many as you will,
Still, still be humble, still be sweet,
By those ways conquer all you meet;
But let them see 'tis undesign'd,
Nat'ral Vertues, not put on
To make a prize of any one,
The native goodness of your mind,
And have a care of being over-kind.
III
That's (my Eugenia) a mistakeThat noblest ardours cools,
And serves on th' other side to make
Damn'd over-weening Fools.
124
As far as Virgin-modesty;
Be not too shie, but have a care
Of being too familiar;
The Swain you entertain alone,
To whom you lend your hand or lip,
Will think he has you on the hip,
And streight conclude you are his own,
Women so easie, men so vain are grown.
IV
Reserv'dness is a mighty FriendTo Form and Vertue too,
A shining merit should pretend
To such a Star as you;
'Tis not a Roundelay well plaid,
A Song well sung, a thing well said,
A Fall well giv'n, a Bar well thrown,
Should carry such a lovely one.
125
(Of all the Nymphs that with their Beams
Gild swift Columba's Chrystal Streams)
Lost to the World, your self, and me,
And more despis'd than freckled Lalage.
V
Maintain a modest kind of State,'Tis gracefull in a Maid;
It does at least respect create,
And makes the Fools afraid.
Eugenia, you must pitch upon
A Sylvia, not a Corydon;
'Twould grate my Soul to see those Charms
In an unworthy Sheepherd's Armes.
A little coldness (Girl) will doe,
Let baffled Lovers call it Pride,
Pride's an excess o'th' better side,
Contempt to arrogance is due,
Keep but state now, and keep't hereafter too.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |