Tixall Poetry/Eugenia
XLIV.
Eugenia.
I find, my Eugenia, I've strugled in vaine, Your powerfull charmes to withstand;My hart can its freedome no longer maintaine, But yeilds to your conquering hand.When beauty, and wit, and good humour conspire,What breast is soe cold as not to take fire.
Blind Cupid ore mortals triumphs in your eyes, From thence doth his empire extend,Who ever looks on you is soone made a prise, His liberty none can defend:Love nere shoots amiss, secure of all harts,Whilst your brow is his bow, your lookes are his darts.
Nor lesse doth he owe to the force of your witt, For the slaves that are hourely made;By a fancy soe quicke, an expression soe sweet, Your charmes to the soule are convaid. Should you aske me the question, I cannot tell whereLove entred my breast, by the eye, or the eare.