Nought under heaven so strongly doth allure
The sense of man, and all his mind possess,
As beauty's lovely bait, that doth procure
Great warriors oft their rigour to repress;
And mighty hands forget their manliness,
Drawn with the power of an heart-robbing eye,
And wrapt in fetters of a golden tress,
That can with melting pleasaunce mollify
Their harden'd hearts, enur'd to blood and cruelty.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
For sure of all that in this mortal frame
Contained is, nought more divine doth seem,
Or that resembleth more th' immortal flame
Of heavenly light, than beauty's glorious beam.
What wonder then if with such rage extreme
Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see,
At sight thereof so much enravish'd be?

Spenser.

For beauty is the bait which, with delight,
Doth man allure, for to enlarge his kind;
Beauty, the burning lamp of heaven's light,
Darting her beams into each feeble mind,
Against whose power por god nor man can find
Defence, reward the daunger of the wound;
But, being hurt, seek to be medicin'd
Of her that first did stir that mortal stownd.

Spenser.

Ye tradeful merchants! that with weary toil
Do seck most precious things to make your gaine,
And both the Indies of their treasures spoil;
What needeth you to seek so far in vain?
For lo! my love doth in herself contain
All this world's riches that may far be found;
If saphyrs, lo! her eyes be saphyrs plain;

If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound;

If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round.
If ivory, her forehead ivory ween;

If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If silver, her fair hands are silver sheen:
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorn'd with vertues manifold.

Spenser

Her looks were like beams of the morning sun,
Forth-looking through the windows of the east,
When first the fleecie cattle have begun
Upon the pearled grass to make their feast.

Spenser.

The fairness of her face no tongue can tell,
For she the daughters of all wemen's race,
And angels eke, in beautie doth excell,
Sparkled on her from God's own glorious face,
And more increast by her own goodly grace,
That it doth far exceed all human thought,
Ne can on earth compared be to aught.

Spenser's Hymne of Heavenly Beautie
For she was full of amiable grace,
And manly terror mixed therewith all;
That as the one stirr'd up affections base,
So th' other did men's rash desires appall,
And hold them backe, that would in error fall:
As he that hath espied a virmill rose,

To which sharpe thornes and breeres the way forstall,

Dare not for dread his hardy hand expose,
But wishing it farr off his ydle wish doth lose.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heav'n,
And, had she liv'd before the siege of Troy,
Helen, whose beauty summon'd Greece to arms,
And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos,
Had not been nam'd in Homer's Iliad;
Her name had been in every line he wrote.
Marlo's Tamberlane the Great.
Beauty's a slipp'ry good, which decreaseth
Whilst it is increasing resembling the
Medlar, which, in the moment of his full
Ripeness, is known to be in a rottenness.
Whilst you look in the glass, it waxeth old
With time; if on the sun, parched with heat; if
On the wind, blasted with cold. A great care
To keep it, a short space to enjoy it,
A sudden time to lose it.

Lilly's Sappho

Why did the gods give thee a heavenly form,
And earthly thoughts to make thee proud of it?
Why do I ask? 'Tis now the known disease
That beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense
Of her own self-conceived excellence.

Jonson's Cynthia's Revels.

So fair, that had you beauty's picture took, It must like her, or not like beauty look.

Aleyn's Henry VII.
What greater torment ever could have been,
Than to enforce the fair to live retir'd?
For what is beauty if it be not seen?
Or what is 't to be seen-if not admir'd?
And though admir'd, unless in love desir'd?
Never were cheeks of roses, locks of amber,
Ordain'd to live imprison'd in a chamber.
Nature created beauty for the view,

Like as the fire for heat, the sun for light :)
The fair do hold this privilege as due,
By ancient charter, to live most in sight,
And she that is debarr'd it, hath not right.
In vain our friends from this do us dehort,
For beauty will be where is most resort.

Daniel's Rosamund. Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show; And straight is gone, as it had never been.

Daniel.

Nature was here so lavish of her store,
That she bestow'd until she had no more;
Whose treasure being weaken'd by this dame,
She thrusts into the world so many lame.

Brown's Pastorals.
Beauty, my lord, 'tis the worst part of woman,
A weak poor thing, assaulted ev'ry hour
By creeping minutes of defacing time;
A superficies, which each breath of care
Blasts off; and ev'ry hum'rous stream of grief,
Which flows from forth these fountains of our eyes,
Washeth away, as rain doth winter's snow.
Goffe's Courageous Turk.

I long not for the cherries on the tree,
So much as those which on a lip I see.
And more affection bear I to the rose,
That in a cheek, than in a garden grows.

There's no miniature

Randolph.

In her face, but is a copious theme, Which would, discours'd at large of, make a volume.

What clear arch'd brows! what sparkling eyes! the lilies

Contending with the roses in her cheeks,
Who shall most set them off. What ruby lips!
Or unto what can I compare her neck,
But to a rock of crystal? Every limb
Proportion'd to love's wish, and in their neatness
Add lustre to the richness of her habit,
Not borrow'd from it.

Massinger.

No autumn, nor no age ever approach

This heavenly piece, which nature having wrought,
She lost her needle, and did then despair
Ever to work so lively and so fair.

Massinger and Field's Fatal Dowry.

Do not idolatrize; beauty's a flow'r,
Which springs and withers almost in an hour.
William Smith's Hector of Germany.

We can distinguish

Of beauty there, and wonder without spectacles,
Write volumes of your praise, and tell the world
How envious diamonds, 'cause they could not
Reach to the lustre of your eyes, dissolv'd
To angry tears; the roses droop, and gath'ring
Their leaves together, seem to chide their blushes
That they must yield your check the victory:
The lilies when they're censur'd for comparing
With your more clear and native purity,
Want white to do their penance in.

Shirley's Royal Master.

Heav'n meant that beauty, nature's greatest force,
Having exceeding pow'r, should have remorse;
Valour, and it, the world should so enjoy,
As both might overcome, but not destroy.
Lord Orrery's Henry V.

My beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
Shaks. Love's Labour Lost.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: other women cloy
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies.

Shaks. Antony and Cleopatra.
Beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
Shaks. Much Ado.

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. Shaks. Twelfth Night

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly,
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud,
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead with an hour.

Shakspeare

With goddess-like demeanour forth she went,
Not unattended, for on her as queen
A pomp of winning graces waited still,
And from about her shot darts of desire
Into all eyes to wish her still in sight.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
Grace was in all her steps, heav'n in her eye,
In ev'ry gesture dignity and love.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
When I approach

Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in herself complete, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seeins wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best,
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her
Loses discount'nanc'd, and like folly shows.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Her heav'nly form

Angelic, but more soft and feminine,
Her graceful innocence, her every air
Of gesture or least action overaw'd

His malice, and with rapine sweet bereav'd
His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

She seizes hearts, not waiting for consent,
Like sudden death, that snatches, unprepared;
Like fire from heaven, scarce seen so soon as felt.
Lansdown's Heroic Love.

fatal beauty! why art thou bestow'd On hapless woman still to make her wretched! keray'd by thee, how many are undone !

Of shapely limbs and features. No:

These are but flowers

That have their dated hours,

To breathe their momentary sweets, then go.

'Tis the stainless soul within

That outshines the fairest skin.

Sir A. Hunt

Oh! she has beauty might ensnare
A conqueror's soul, and make him tear his crown
At random, to be scuffied for by slaves.

Otway's Orphan

Mark her majestic fabric! she's a temple
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine;
Her soul's the deity that lodges there;
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god.

Dryden's Don Sebastian.

The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles,
And with heav'd hands, forgetting gravity,
They bless her wanton eyes. Ev'n I, who hate her,
With a malignant joy behold such beauty,
And, while I curse, desire it.

Dryden's All for Love.

At her feet were laid

The sceptres of the earth, exposed on heaps, To choose where she would reign.

Dryden's All for Love.

Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her shapes, her features,

Seem to be drawn by love's own hand; by love Himself in love.

Dryden's Love Triumphant.

One who would change the worship of all climates,
And make a new religion where'er she comes,
Unite the differing faiths of all the world,
To idolize her face.

Dryden's Love Triumphant.
A native grace

Sat fair proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress: for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Thomson's Seasons.
Her form was fresher than the morning rose,
When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd, and pure,
As is the lily, or the mountain snow.

Patterson's Arminius.

Thomson's Seasons.

"Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin, that I admire;
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.

Addison's Cato.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide;
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.

Is she not brighter than a summer's morn, When all the heav'n is streak'd with dappled fires,

And fleck'd with blushes like a rifled maid? Lee's Duke of Guise.

O she is all perfections!

All that the blooming earth can send forth fair;
All that the gaudy heavens could drop down
glorious.
Lee's Theodosius.
A lavish planet reign'd when she was born,
And made her of such kindred mould to heav'n,

She seems more heav'n's than ours.

Lee's Edipus.
The bloom of opening flowers' unsullied beauty,
Softness, and sweetest innocence she wears,
And looks like nature in the world's first spring.
Rowe's Tamerlane.

Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?

Rowe's Fair Penitent.

O how I grudge the grave this heav'nly form!
Thy beauties will inspire the arms of death,
And warm the pale cold tyrant into life.
Southern's Loyal Brother.
Her grace of motion and of look, the smooth
And swimming majesty of step and tread,
The symmetry of form and feature, set
The soul afloat, even like delicious airs
of flute or harp.

Milman.

What tender force, what dignity divine,
What virtue consecrating every feature!
Around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Young's Busiris.

What's female beauty, but an air divine,
Through which the mind's all gentle graces shine?
They, like the sun, irradiate all between;
The body charms, because the soul is seen.
Hence men are often captives of a face,
They know not why, of no peculiar grace:
Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can
bear;

Some, none resist, though not exceeding fair.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit,
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse unknown before!
The grave discredits thee: thy charms expung'd,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of? will thy lovers
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?
Methinks I see thee with thy head laid low;
Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek,
The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd. For this was all thy caution?
For this thy painful labours at thy glass,
T'improve those charms and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul
feeder!

Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relish on the sense.

Blair's Grave.

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, Subdue the haughty, shake th' undaunted soul; Yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth,

And lead him forth as a domestic cur,

These are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.

Joanna Baillie's Basil. But then her face, So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, The overflowings of an innocent heart.

Rogers's Italy. Beauty,

That transitory flower: even while it lasts
Palls on the roving sense, when held too near,
Or dwelling there too long: by fits it pleases;
And smells at distance best; its sweets, familiar
By frequent converse, soon grow dull and cloy you
Jeffery's Edwin

With head upraised, and look intent,
An eye and ear attentive bent,
And locks flung back, and lips apart,
Like monument of Grecian art
In listening mood, she seemed to stand,
The guardian naiad of the strand.

Scott's Lady of the Lake.
The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek,
That you had said her hue was pale;
But if she faced the summer-gale,
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved,
Or heard the praise of those she loved,
Or when of interest was expressed
Aught that waked feeling in her breast,
The mantling blood in ready play
Rivalled the blush of rising day.

Fair all the pageant- but how passing fair
The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind!
O'er her white bosom stray'd her hazel hair,
Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined.
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.

Such harmony in motion, speech and air,
That without fairness, she was more than fair.
Crabbe.
Lo! when the buds expand the leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the flower is seen;
Then come the honied breath and rosy smile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile:
But as we look, and love, and taste, and praise,
And the fruit grows, the charming flower decays;
Till all is gathered, and the wintry blast
Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past.
So 't is with beauty,-such the opening grace
And dawn of glory in the youthful face;
Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds, and genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of beauty's flower.
So through all nature is the progress made,-
The bud, the bloom, the fruit,—and then we fade.
Crabbe.
Oh! how refreshing seemed the breathing wind,
To her faint limbs! and while her snowy hands
From her fair brow her golden hair unbind,
And of her zone unloose the silken bands,
More passing bright unveiled her beauty stands;
For faultless was her form as beauty's queen,
And every winning grace that love demands
With mild attempered dignity was seen
Play o'er each lovely limb, and deck her angel
mien.'
Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.
Ev'n then her presence had the power
To soothe, to warm,-nay, ev'n to bless-
If ever bliss could graft its flower

On stem so full of bitterness-
Ev'n then her glorious smile to me,
Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm
Like moonlight on a troubled sea,
Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

Moore's Loves of the Angels.

As rising on its purple wing
The insect queen of eastern spring,
J'er emerald meadows of Kashmere,
Invites the young pursuer near,

She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The morning star of memory.

Byron's Giaour.
Such was Zuleika! such around her shone
The nameless charms unmarked by her alone:
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole—
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!

Byron's Bride of Abydos.
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
As weeping beauty's cheek at sorrow's tale.
Byron's Bride of Abydos.

So bright the tear in beauty's eye
Love half regrets to kiss it dry,
So sweet the blush of bashfulness
Even pity scarce can wish it less.

Byron's Bride of Abydos
Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing check, his sinking heart confess
The might-the majesty of loveliness?

Byron's Bride of Abydos. Her glance, how wildly beautiful! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch!

Who round the north for paler dames would seek?
How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan
and weak!
Byron's Childe Harold.
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

Byron's Beppo.
Her overpowering presence made you feel
It would not be idolatry to kneel.

Byron's Don Juan. Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,