You have honours, you have wealth, And at night no care I take. Bound to none my fortunes be; This or that man's fall I fear not; Him I love that loveth me; For the rest a pin I care not. You are sad when others chafe, And grow merry as they laugh; WANTONS! 'tis not your sweet eyings, Gesture's temptings, tear's beguilings, Nor those painted sweets, with which (All united, nor asunder) That can compass such a wonder, Or to win you love prevail, Where her moving virtues fail. Beauties! 'tis not all those features Though their best they should discover, Nor those eyes whence beauty's lances In love's hidden treasury, That can liking gain, where she Will the best-beloved be. For, should those who think they may Draw my love from her away, Bring forth all their female graces, Practise all the art they may, Weep, or sing, or kiss, or pray ;— 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, [Abridged from 18 stanzas.] HAIL! thou fairest of all creatures And perfections most divine: Though a stranger to the Muses, On this glass of thy perfection If that any women pry, Let them thereby take direction To adorn themselves thereby: This thy picture, therefore show I, Neither touch of jealousy; For, the more make love to thee, I am no Italian lover, That will mew thee in a jail; If thou may'st be won away, 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. |