Who could doat on thing so common,
As mere outward-handsome woman?
Those half-beauties only win
Fools to let affection in.
Vulgar wits, from reason shaken,
Are with such impostures taken ;
And, with all their art in love,
Wantons can but wantons move.

[Abridged from 18 stanzas.]

HAIL! thou fairest of all creatures

Upon whom the sun doth shine;
Model of all rarest features,

And perfections most divine:
Thrice, all hail! and blessed be
Those that love and honour thee.

Though a stranger to the Muses,

Young, obscured, and despis’d,
Yet, such art thy love infuses,

That I thus have poetiz’d.
Read, and be content to see
Thy admired power in me.-

On this glass of thy perfection

If that any women pry,
Let them thereby take direction

To adorn themselves thereby:
And if ought amiss they view,
Let them dress themselves anew.-

This thy picture, therefore show I,

Naked, unto every eye;
Yet no fear of rival know I,

Neither touch of jealousy;
For, the more make love to thee,
I the more shall pleased be.

I am no Italian lover,

That will mew thee in a jail ;
But thy beauty I discover,

English-like, without a veil.
If thou may’st be won away,
Win and wear thee he that may.

Yet in this thou may'st believe me,

(So indifferent though I seem) Death with tortures would not grieve me

More, than loss of thy esteem.
For, if Virtue me forsake,
All a scorn of me will make.

Then, as I, on thee relying,

Do no changing fear in thee, So, by my defects supplying,

From all changing keep thou me: That unmatched we may prove, Thou, for beauty ; I, for love.

[Abridged from 12 stanzas.]

SAD eyes, what do you ail,

To be thus ill-disposed ? Why doth your sleeping fail,

Now all men's else are closed?
Was't I, that ne'er did bow

In any servile duty,
And will you make me now

A slave to love and beauty ?

What hopes have I, that she

Will hold her favours ever, When so few women be. .

That constant can persever? Whate'er she do protest,

When fortunes do deceive me, Then she, with all the rest,

I fear, alas! will leave me.

Shall then, in earnest truth,

My careful eyes observe her? Shall I consume my youth,

And short my time to serve her? Shall I, beyond my strength,

Let passion's torments prove me? To hear her say at length,

“ Away–I cannot love thee.”

O, rather let me die

Whilst I thus gentle find her; 'Twere worse than death, if I

Should find she proves unkinder! One frown, though but in jest,

Or one unkindness, feigned, Would rob me of more rest

Than e'er could be regained.

But in her eyes I find

Such signs of pity moving, She cannot be unkind,

Nor err, nor fail in loving. And, on her forehead, this

Seems written to relieve me; My heart no joy shall miss,

That love or she can give me.

And this shall be the worst

Of all that can betide me, If I, like some, accurs’d,

Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long;

I know which way to mend them : I'll think who did the wrong,

Sigh, break my heart, and end them.

[Abridged from 10 stanzas.]

Hence, away, thou Syren, leave me,

Pish! unclasp these wanton arms; Sugar'd words can ne'er deceive me, Though thou prove a thousand charms;

Fie, fie, forbear!

No common snare
Can ever my affection chain :

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such as you be,

Nor shall that soft snowy breast,