264
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.
A Nun demure, of lowly port;
Or sprightly Maiden, of Love's Court,
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
A Queen in crown of rubies drest;
A Starveling in a scanty vest;
Are all, as seem to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.
A little Cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next—and instantly
The freak is over,
The shape will vanish, and behold!
A silver Shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some Faery bold
In fight to cover.
