TO HIS MISTRESS. MIstake me not! 'Tis not your frizzled Hair, Your Azure Veins, your Lily hands so fair, Your Rosy Cheeks, or Lip, your frown, or smile That I call Mistress! Oh there's no such wile Can take one Thought of mine; 'Tis not that Grace That always dances in your Eye or Face That once provokes me to a Glance. Your Limbs Knit so surpassing Art, so firm, so trim As if not FORMED but CASTANNA; These but to me Like Statue seem, and so to them I'll be: To these your Clothes are Wedded; as to them Your Trunk, or Press, as to each Ear a Gem, To that a Casket. Now d'ye think that I With Trunks, or Coffins will a Rival die? Purer than fire! a Thing not to be seen In me must raise a Throne, must be my Queen. Her Veil spun out with Charity to hid Our Numberless Transgressions on each side; Shall have my simplest and most Virgin Kiss. Next her Minds Harmony, I'll count my Bliss. Her smother Thoughts, and Wishes I'll embrace As a full Choir of Angels in one face. Her Modest Blushes, and her Chastity To me both Venus, and shall Diana be. Whose fears no furies are, but Priests, whose Joy No Rapture is, nor darling of the Boy, But with her hopes a Constellation makes, Mixed with those Sacred Vows she daily takes. Now whilst such Innocence resides below I will to her as to a Temple go. Whilst thus I wed, whilst thus I choose my Bride I am not to the Sex, but Virtue tied. Ex Aede Christi J.L. Good Omen to the Nuptials of my never enough Honoured Pupil Mrs. Marry Noel Widow; with my much Honoured Kinsman Sir William farmer Baronet. Blessed Nymph! of Females the Prime star In Beauty's firmament! so far Outshining others, that all vex To be styled Creatures of your Sex. Since all your Lustre is divine, The Richest Gem of Virtue's shrine; No Colours here dare strive for Place, Where Graces only make the Face. In you there's naught of Art or Paint, But all we meet is Virgin, Saint. The Lady's Veil, and by't their Lips, Forced to confess their own Eclipse. Whilst she is held o'th' Loveliest hue, Whom fame sets forth as likest you. Whilst you move thus deliberate, Not in a coy, but pious state. Whilst ye in yourself a SENATE keep, Where PRUDENCE ne'er has time to sleep. Whilst that with Tears you wash your Bed, Before you dare resolve to Wed. And oft implore, and pray again, Till Heaven vouchsafe to say Amen: Hence be't to call the Nuptial Tie A Sacrament, no Heresy. Since you i'th' Church do doubtful stand, Whether you move on Sea or Land. Since you yourself devoutly shroud, As if you met your Lord i'th' Cloud: Clothed with white Robes of Innocence, And loved by each Intelligence. No Pompous dress can you adorn, And Arts best Rags are Marks of Scorn. Your Sapphires, Pearls, and each rich stone Change Colour, wishing they were none. Those Vain delights o'th' Wedding Bed Methinks the Virgin's gin to dread; Since they do clearly now descry Ere they well marry, they must die. Now may the Aspects of this morn Out by that Instant when you're born: Yet for contentment may this first If your new Life be found the worst. So may you live that each day prove Midwife to a Progeny of Love. May your Blest sociat find in you, What still invites to Court, and woe. May your Afflictions still grow more, Till each can write full out fourscore. May you of Joys no Ray or Beam Discover still, but a full stream. Whilst Sands touch Sands, and minutes kiss, May you be bathed with showers of bliss. Clouds of your Praises still contend With Clouds of blessings that descend On you, and yours, may such a Strife Fill the whole Circuit of your Life. May you still prove a sacred Charm, To guard your Lover from all Harm. May you of him a Champion find, Not by the strength of Hand, but Mind; Subduing all that dare Contest Whether? In Nature you are Best. Beyond Time and Expression Yours. Ex Aede Christi J.L. Luffenham in Rutlandshire. With Allowance.