'Spite of my Best Resolves, my Thoughts Aspire
To Speak, what I in Silence should Admire;
How vainly I endeavor to express,
What none can e'er describe, but make it less!
When your Composure was as first Designed,
Heaven to a vast Extravagance was kind;
Beauty and Wit did lavishly Contest,
Who should give most, which should adorn you best:
A Stately Mien, soft Charms, a Face so sweet;
In You alone do all Perfections meet.
So Bright your Beauty, so Sublime your Wit,
None but a Prince to wear your Chains is Fit.
I would wish Something but all Heaven's Store
Cannot afford One Single Blessing more:
Honor nor Wealth you want; nor any Thing,
Unless I wish you a Perpetual Spring
Of Youth and Blooming Beauties; such as may
Make all Your Envious Rivals pine away.