Hail! thou Fairest of all Creatures,
Upon whom the sun doth shine!
Model of all rarest features,
And perfections most divine!
Thrice, All Hail! And blessed be,
Those that love and honour thee!
Of thy worth, this rural Story,
Thy unworthy Swain hath penned;
And to thy ne'er-ending glory,
These plain Numbers doth commend:
Which ensuing Times shall warble,
When 'tis lost, that's writ in marble.
Though thy praise, and high deservings,
Cannot all, be here expressed;
Yet my love and true observings
Some way, ought to be professed!
And where greatest love we see,
Highest things attemptèd be.
By thy Beauty, I have gainèd
To behold the best perfections;
By thy Love, I have obtainèd
To enjoy the best affections.
And my tongue to sing thy praise!
Love and Beauty thus doth raise.
What although in rustic shadows,
I, a Shepherd's breeding had!
And confinèd to these meadows,
So in home-spun russet clad!
Such as I, have, now and then,
Dared as much as greater men.
Though a stranger to the Muses,
Young, obscurèd, and despised;
Yet such Art, thy love infuses!
That I, thus, have poetised.
Read! and be content to see
Thy admirèd power in me!
And O grant, thou Sweetest Beauty!
(Wherewith ever Earth was graced),
That this Trophy of my duty
May, with favour be embraced!
And disdain not, in these rhymes,
To be sung to after Times!
Let those doters on Apollo,
That adore the Muses so,
(And, like geese, each other follow)
See what Love alone can do!
For in love lays, Grove and Field;
Nor to Schools, nor Courts will yield!
On this Glass of thy Perfection,
If that any women pry;
Let them, thereby, take direction
To adorn themselves thereby!
And if aught amiss they view;
Let them dress themselves anew!
Young men shall, by this, acquainted
With the truest Beauties, grow;
So the counterfeit, or painted,
They may shun, when them they know.
But the Way, all will not find;
For some eyes have, yet are blind.