The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Waiting-maid
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THE WAITING MAID.
Thy Maid! ah! find some nobler theme
Whereon thy doubts to place;
Nor by a low suspect blaspheme
The glories of thy face.
Whereon thy doubts to place;
Nor by a low suspect blaspheme
The glories of thy face.
Alas! she makes thee shine so fair,
So exquisitely bright,
That her dim lamp must disappear
Before thy potent light.
So exquisitely bright,
That her dim lamp must disappear
Before thy potent light.
Three hours each morn in dressing thee
Maliciously are spent;
And make that beauty tyranny,
That's else a civil government.
Maliciously are spent;
And make that beauty tyranny,
That's else a civil government.
Th' adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barbarous skill;
’Tis like the poisoning of a dart
Too apt before to kill.
Is but a barbarous skill;
’Tis like the poisoning of a dart
Too apt before to kill.
The ministering angels none can see;
’Tis not their beauty' or face,
For which by men they worshipp'd be;
But their high office and their place,
Thou art my Goddess, my Saint she;
I pray to her, only to pray to thee.
’Tis not their beauty' or face,
For which by men they worshipp'd be;
But their high office and their place,
Thou art my Goddess, my Saint she;
I pray to her, only to pray to thee.