TO A LADY.
47
'T was Nature taught you this rare art,
In such a little much to shew;
Who, all the good she did impart
To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.
In such a little much to shew;
Who, all the good she did impart
To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.
If, as the ancients did not doubt to sing.
The turning years be well compar'd to' a ring,
We'll write whate'er from you we hear;
For that 's the posy of the year.
This difference only will remain—
That Time his former face does shew,
Winding into himself again;
But your unweary'd wit is always new.
The turning years be well compar'd to' a ring,
We'll write whate'er from you we hear;
For that 's the posy of the year.
This difference only will remain—
That Time his former face does shew,
Winding into himself again;
But your unweary'd wit is always new.
'T is said that conjurers have an art found out
To carry spirits confin'd in rings about:
The wonder now will less appear,
When we behold your magic here.
You, by your rings, do prisoners take,
And chain them with your mystic spells,
And, the strong witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great devil, charm'd to those circles, dwells.
To carry spirits confin'd in rings about:
The wonder now will less appear,
When we behold your magic here.
You, by your rings, do prisoners take,
And chain them with your mystic spells,
And, the strong witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great devil, charm'd to those circles, dwells.
They who above do various circles find,
Say, like a ring th' Equator heaven does bind.
When heaven shall be adorn'd by thee
(Which then more Heaven than 't is will be),
'T is thou must write the posy there;
For it wanteth one as yet,
Though the sun pass through 't twice a year;
The sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit.
Say, like a ring th' Equator heaven does bind.
When heaven shall be adorn'd by thee
(Which then more Heaven than 't is will be),
'T is thou must write the posy there;
For it wanteth one as yet,
Though the sun pass through 't twice a year;
The sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit.
