Tixall Poetry/Celia
Celia.
by Mr Fanshawe.
Rash oath! that since her tresses cannot mourne
In blacke, (because uncut Apollo's hayre
Darts not a greater splendour through the ayre)
She'l make them droope in her neglect; forget
Those rings, which her white hand in order set;
And curiously did every morning curie
Into a thousand snares the silver purle.
But they are disobedient to command,
And swear they owe no homage to her hand:
That Nature is their mistresse, in her name,
The priviledge that they were borne to clayme:
Scorning to have it said, the hayre gave place
To the perfections that all parts doe grace.
So weave themselves in loopes; and curie now more
By carelesnesse, then by her care before.
Like a crisp't comet, which the starres pursue
In throngs, and mortals with pale horror view,
Threatning some great one's death—such light displayes
Her face, or like a saint that's crown'd with rayes.
Lady—what boots neglect of face, or hayre?
You must use art if you would growe less fayre.
That you may see how Mr Fanshaw has spent his time here, I have sent you these verses, which are of his making, sence his coming hither, and hee presented them to my sister and mee. The first were made upon this occasion: Wee wer all walking in the owld halle, and looking upon Trent, and I was speaking how you used to course your boy Dick about that medow, and talking of many such things. But the next morning he came out with these verses, which I doe not think but you will like very well, for methinks they are very prity ones, if they had bin made of better subjectes. Wee made him beleeve that you should fight with him when he came into Spaine againe, for abusing your sisters so, in flattering of them so infinightly as he has don in these verses. But now to come to speeke of these other verses of his, which are made in particular to my sister Gatt. The occasion of making of them was this: We had bin one eavening at bowles, and when we caime in, my sister was opening her hayre with her fingers, and bid him tell you that she would not curie her hayer no otherwaies than it curled itselfe till she saw you againe. Uppon which theame he made these other verses, which are much admired by all here, and by the Thimelbyes. I have sent you a lettle picture which you did love much when you were here, and then I could not get one for you, but sence having got one for you, I was most willing to send it you. Once more, my dear brother, adieu.