AN ANSWER TO THE MANTUAN, OR, False Character, lately wrote against WOMANKIND.  Muliere bonâ omnia comprehenduntur. 
A Virtuous Woman, Oye Gods! who dare  
Presume to speak or write her Character?  
Or what Pot-Poet dare attempt to vex  
By cursed Libels this so glorious Sex?  
A Sex that was by heavens Decrees designed  
To be (and is) the best of Human kind.  
For Woman has a virtue that's sublime,  
Above the Battery of Fate or Time.  
And in this Sex there certain Rays are found,  
Which not one Grace can make, but all compound.  
In wit, modesty, and virtuous deeds,  
This most Divine Celestial Sex exceeds.  
A beauty also, not to Art in Debt,  
Rather agreeable, Divine, than great.  
An Eye likewise, wherein at once do meet  
The beams of truest kindness, and of wit.  
The fairest Tulips, and the Rose o'th' Bush,  
Do draw their Tincture from her Lip and Blush.  
An undissembled modest Innocence,  
Apt not to give, nor yet to take offence.  
A Face that's modest, charming, and serene,  
A sober; virtuous, and yet lively mien.  
As many Diamonds together lie,  
And dart one lustre to amaze the Eye;  
So Woman is that bright Etherial Ray,  
Which many Stars doth in one Light display:  
For in her Face she captives modesty,  
Which is completed in Divinity.  
Her very glances set all Hearts on Fire,  
And check them if they should too much aspire.  
If she but smile, no Painter e'er would take  
Another object, when he'd Mercy make.  
And Heaven such splendour hath to her allowed,  
That no damned Mantuan can her Beauty cloud.  
That if she frown, none would but fancy then  
Justice descended there to punish Men.  
Nay, her common looks, I'm ashamed to call  
One single Grace, they are composed of all:  
And if we Mortals could the Doctrine reach,  
Her very Eyes and looks do Language teach.  
Her Soul's the Image of the Deity,  
That still preserves its Native purity:  
Which Men can neither threaten nor allure,  
Nor by their devilish Characters obscure.  
The Innocence that in her Heart doth dwell,  
Angels themselves can only parallel.  
Such constancy of modest witty Law  
Guides all her Actions, that all Men may draw  
From her own Soul the noblest precedent,  
Of the most safe, wise, virtuous Government.  
Oh! I must think the rest, for who can write,  
Or into words confine what's infinite?  
For striving to describe quite to the end  
Of her, that all the World doth comprehend,  
Is a most wild Ambition; so for me  
To draw her Picture, is flat Lunacy.  
But yet by what's here writ, the World may see  
I am the first drew Truth to Poetry.  
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed in the Year 1679.