Spight of her Virtue and her Pride,
Every Morning I am blest
With what to Damon is deny'd;
To view her when she is undrest.
All her Heaven of Beauty's shown
To triumphing Me——alone.
Scarce the prying Beams of Light,
Or th' impatient God of Day,
Are allow'd so near a Sight,
Or dare profane her with a Ray;
When she has appear'd to me,
Like Venus rising from the Sea.
But Oh! I must those Charms conceal,
All too divine for vulgar Eyes:
Should I my secret Joys reveal,
Of sacred Trust I break the Ties;
And Damon would with Envy die,
Who hopes one Day to be as blest as I.
Extravagant with my Joys, I have stray'd beyond my Limits; for I was telling you of the wond'rous Fineness of your Eyes, which no Mortal can resist, nor any Heart stand the Force of their Charms, and the most difficult Conquest they gain, scarce cost 'em the expence of a Look. They are modest and tender, chaste and languishing. There you may take a view of the whole Soul, and see Wit and Good-Nature (those two inseparable Virtues of the Mind) in an extraordinary measure. In fine, you see all that fair Eyes can produce, to make themselves ador'd. And when they are angry, they strike an unresistible Awe upon the Soul; And those Severities Damon wishes may perpetually accompany them, during their Absence from him; for 'tis with such Eyes, he would have you receive all his Rivals.
Keep, lovely Maid, the Softness In your Eyes,
To flatter Damon with another Day:
When at your Feet the ravish'd Lover lies,
Then put on all that's tender, all that's gay:
And for the Griefs your Absence makes him prove,
Give him the softest, dearest Looks of Love.
His trembling Heart with sweetest Smiles caress,
And in your Eyes soft Wishes let him find;
That your Regret of Absence may confess,
In which no Sense of Pleasure you could find:
And to restore him, let your faithful Eyes
Declare, that all his Rivals you despise.
The MOUTH of IRIS.
I perceive your Modesty would impose Silence on me: But, Oh fair Iris! do not think to present your self before a Glass, if you would not have it tell you all your Beauties. Content your self that I only speak of 'em, en passant; for should I speak what I would, I should dwell all Day upon each Particular, and still say something new. Give me liberty then to speak of your fine Mouth: You need only open it a little, and you will see the most delicate Teeth that ever you beheld; the whitest, and the best set. Your Lips are the finest in the World; so round, so soft, so plump, so dimpled, and of the loveliest Colour. And when you smile, Oh! what Imagination can conceive how sweet it is, that has not seen you smiling? I cannot describe what I so admire; and 'tis in vain to those who have not seen Iris.
Oh Iris! boast that one peculiar Charm,
That has so many Conquests made;
So innocent, yet capable of Harm;
So just it self, yet has so oft betray'd:
Where a thousand Graces dwell,
And wanton round in ev'ry Smile.
A thousand Loves do listen when you speak,
And catch each Accent as it flies:
Rich flowing Wit, whene'er you Silence break,
Flows from your Tongue, and sparkles in your Eyes.
Whether you talk, or silent are,
Your Lips immortal Beauties wear.