Poems, by that most famous wit, William Drummond of Hawthornden

On the Pourtrait of the Countesse of Perthe.

SON.

THe Goddesse that in Amathus doth raigne, With silver Tramells, and Saphir-colour'd Eyes, When naked from her Mothers Chrystall Plaine, She first appear'd unto the wondring Skies: Or when the golden-Apple to obtaine, Her blushing Snow amazed Idas Trees, Did never look in halfe so faire a guise, As She here drawn all other Ages Staine. O God what Beauties to inflame the Soule, And hold the hardest Hearts in Chaines of Gold! Faire Locks, sweet Face, Loves stately Capitole, Pure Neck which doth that heavenly Frame uphold, If Vertue would to mortall Eyes appeare, To ravish sense She would your Beautie wear.

SON.

IF Heaven, the Stars, and Nature did her grace With all Perfections found the Moone above, And what excelleth in this lower Place, Found place in her to breed a World of Love: If Angels Gleames shine on her fairest Face, Which makes Heavens Joy, on Earth, the gazer prove, And her bright Eyes (the Orbes which Beauty move) As Phoebus dazell in his glorious Race. What Pencill paint what Colour to the sight So sweet a Shape can show? the blushing Morne, The red must lend, the Milkie-way the white, And Night the Stars which her rich Crown adorne; To draw her right then, and make all agree, The Heaven the Table, Zeuxis Jove must be.