III.
Nor, Hero-like who, on their crest still wore
A lyon, panther, leopard, or a bore,
To looke their enemies in their herse,
Thou would'st thy hand should deeper pierce,
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.
IV.
No, no, LUCASTA, destiny decreed,
That beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,
And strip themselves to make you gay:
For ne'r yet herald did display
A coat, where SABLES upon ERMIN lay.
V.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore,
Salute the threshold, and admire no more;
But I, in my invention tough,
Rate not this outward bliss enough,
But still contemplate must the hidden muffe.
A BLACK PATCH<65.1> ON LUCASTA'S FACE.
Dull as I was, to think that a court fly
Presum'd so neer her eye;
When 'twas th' industrious bee
Mistook her glorious face for paradise,
To summe up all his chymistry of spice;
With a brave pride and honour led,
Neer both her suns he makes his bed,
And, though a spark, struggles to rise as red.
Then aemulates the gay
Daughter of day;
Acts the romantick phoenix' fate,
When now, with all his sweets lay'd out in state,
LUCASTA scatters but one heat,
And all the aromatick pills do sweat,
And gums calcin'd themselves to powder beat,
Which a fresh gale of air
Conveys into her hair;
Then chaft, he's set on fire,
And in these holy flames doth glad expire;
And that black marble tablet there
So neer her either sphere
Was plac'd; nor foyl, nor ornament,
But the sweet little bee's large monument.
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