The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Beauty

by Abraham Cowley

For works with similar titles, see Beauty.

BEAUTY.

Beauty! thou wild fantastick ape,
Who dost in every country change thy shape!
Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white;
Thou flatterer! which comply'st with every sight!
Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye
With unintelligible variety!
Who hast no certain What, nor Where;
But vary'st still, and dost thyself declare
Inconstant, as thy she-professors are.

Beauty! Love's scene and masquerade,
So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made!
False coin, with which th' impostor cheats us still;
The stamp and colour good, but metal ill!
Which light or base we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee!
For, though thy being be but show,
'T is chiefly night which men to thee allow:
And choose t' enjoy thee, when thou least art Thou.

Beauty! thou active, passive ill!
Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill!
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for physick good, nor smell, nor taste.
Beauty! whose flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou wouldst seem a star;
Who dar'st not thine own home descry,
Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas! dost in the fancy lie.

Beauty! whose conquests still are made
O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd;
Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be
When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee!
Thou 'unwholesome thaw to frozen age!
Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!
Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free!
Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be!
Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which wouldst damn me!