And is thy love so wondrous fair?
Hath she Hersilia’s shining hair;
Juno’s count’nance; Pallas’s eye,
Full of awful majesty?
In love’s story dost thou find
Cupid with one glance struck blind?
Doth her cheeks excel Aurora’s,
And her fragrant breath sweet Flora’s?
Venus’s ruby lips and smile,
That a Stoic would beguile?
Galatea’s neck and breast
On which Idalia’s boy doth rest?
Doth her shoulders Pelops’spass?
Or Pygmalion’s ivory lass?
Doth her elegant sweet speeches
Most command when she beseeches?
Like Diana, tall and chaste,
And as slender when embraced?
Doth her beauty Phoebus darken?
Do the spheres stand still and hearken
When she quavers on the viol?
Like the sunbeams on the dial,
Doth she govern fate and chance?
To her music doth time dance?
And when she doth touch a lute,
Do the Muses all stand mute?
Is she of Saturnian issue?
Are her limbs wrapped up in tissue?
Her hidden parts like Aphrodite,
But as coy as Amphitrite?
Why then, Philanthropas bestride,
And after her a-wooing ride.