Florimel's Ditty    
 
from  THE MUSES' ELYSIUM         

How in my thoughts shall I contrive     The image I am framing, Which is so far superlative,     As 't is beyond all naming? I would Jove of my counsel make,     And have his judgment in it, But that I doubt he would mistake     How rightly to begin it. It must be builded in the air,     And 't is my thoughts must do it, And only they must be the stair     From earth to mount me to it. For of my sex I frame my lay,     Each hour ourselves forsaking, How should I then find out the way,     To this my undertaking, When our weak fancies working still,     Yet changing every minute, Will show that it requires some skill,     Such difficulties in it? We would things, yet know not what,     And let our will be granted, Yet instantly we find in that     Something unthought of wanted. Our joys and hopes such shadows are     As with our motions vary, Which when we oft have fetched from far,     With us they never tarry. Some worldly cross doth still attend     What long we have been spinning, And ere we fully get the end,     We lose of our beginning. Our policies so peevish are     That with themselves they wrangle, And many times become the snare     That soonest us entangle ; For that the love we bear our friends,     Though ne'er so strongly grounded, Hath in it certain oblique ends,     If to the bottom sounded ; Our own well wishing making it     A pardonable treason, For that it is derived from wit,     And underpropped with reason. For our dear selves' beloved sake,     Even in the depth of passion, Our centre though ourselves we make     Yet is not that our station ; For whilst our brows ambitious be,     And youth at hand awaits us, It is a pretty thing to see     How finely beauty cheats us ; And whilst with time we trifling stand     To practise antique graces, Age with a pale and withered hand     Draws furrows in our faces.