In the rest, without controul,
She should triumph o'er the Soul!
Prostrate at her Feet I'd lie,
Despising Power and Liberty;
Glorying more by Love to fall,
Than rule the universal Ball.
Hear me, O you saucy Youth!
And from my Maxims learn this Truth:
Would you great and powerful prove?
Be an humble Slave to Love.
'Tis nobler far a Joy to give,
Than any Blessing to receive.
The LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS, to Dress her self by: or, The Art of Charming.
Sent from DAMON to IRIS.
How long, Oh charming Iris! shall I speak in vain of your adorable Beauty? You have been just, and believe I love you with a Passion perfectly tender and extreme, and yet you will not allow your Charms to be infinite. You must either accuse my Flames to be unreasonable, and that my Eyes and Heart are false Judges of Wit and Beauty; or allow that you are the most perfect of your Sex. But instead of that, you always accuse me of Flattery, when I speak of your infinite Merit; and when I refer you to your Glass, you tell me, that flatters as well as Damon: tho' one would imagine, that should be a good Witness for the Truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the Opinion of my Injustice. Look—and confirm your self that nothing can equal your Perfections. All the World says it, and you must doubt it no longer. Oh Iris! will you dispute against the whole World?
But since you have so long distrusted your own Glass, I have here presented you with one, which I know is very true; and having been made for you only, can serve only you. All other Glasses present all Objects, but this reflects only Iris: Whenever you consult it, it will convince you; and tell you how much Right I have done you, when I told you, you were the fairest Person that ever Nature made. When other Beauties look into it, it will speak to all the Fair Ones: but let 'em do what they will, 'twill say nothing to their advantage.
Iris, to spare what you call Flattery,
Consult your Glass each Hour of the Day:
'Twill tell you where your Charms and Beauties lie,
And where your little wanton Graces play:
Where Love does revel in your Face and Eyes;
What Look invites your Slaves, and what denies.
Where all the Loves adorn you with such Care,
Where dress your Smiles, where arm your lovely Eyes;
Where deck the flowing Tresses of your Hair:
How cause your snowy Breasts to fall and rise.
How this severe Glance makes a Lover die;
How that, more soft, gives Immortality.
Where you shall see what 'tis enslaves the Soul;
Where e'ery Feature, e'ery Look combines:
When the adorning Air, o'er all the whole,
To so much Wit, and so nice Virtue joins.
Where the Belle Taille, and Motion still afford
Graces to be eternally adored.