WHAT though Flora frowns on me?
'Tis but a chance of destiny.
The wisest I have heard to say,
'Tis dusk before the break of day.
Why should I curse that hour of night
That brings the day to light?
Each angry look appears to me
As witness of her modesty;
And blustering storms do but forerun
The lustre of a brighter sun;
Which when appeased, I'm full possess'd
Her frowns are but in jest.
I know, fair Flora, in thy breast
A killing anger cannot rest:
Yet for my humour I will love
Though thou to me a fury prove:
I know thy soul is so refined
Thou wilt at last prove kind.
From The New Academy of Compliments, 1671.
FAIREST thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Wouldst thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garments wear:
For thou wilt seem much whiter so
Than winter when 'tis clad in snow.
'Tis not the linen shows so fair,
Her skin shines through and makes it bright;
So clouds themselves like suns appear
When the sun pierces them with light;
So, lilies in a glass enclose,
The glass will seem as white as those.
Thou now one heap of beauty art,
Nought outwards or within is foul;
Condensed beams make every part,
The body's clothed like the soul,
Thy soul which does itself display
Like a star placed i' th' milky way.
Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard no mortal's pain,
Men pray (I fear) to both in vain.
Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,
My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou wouldst not take this garment, sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill:
Of peace and yielding who would doubt
When the white flag he sees hung out?