Tixall Poetry/To the Faire Indian of Amersford

by unknown author

To

The Faire Indian

of

Amersford.

 

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New mome of beauty, fled from East,
T' enlighten and inrich our West:
Bright starr, in whose compendious flame
Are all the goods your sunne can frame:
Say, fairest, (ah, doe not repine
To tell our world some newes of thine,)
What spice, what gold, what ieuells' light
Inioy thy Indys since thy flight?
Confesse (thers none pursues thee heere,)
What brought you thence? what left you there?

 Can any gumms or spices stay
 Wher thy breath suck'd all sweets away?
 Since the admired Phoenix nest
 Lyes all ingrossed in thy breast.
 Can any gold be spar'd to shine,
 Where all made up thés brades of thine?
What saphir now can sparke, or diamond glow
Wher all to frame thy brighter eyes did goe?

 Oh, can one single pearle be left
 Wher thy pure teeth made such a theft?
 Can th' Indian vaunt his ivory,
 Since thy smooth skinn's faire robberye?
 Wher, since he lost thy lyp and cheeke,
 Twere madnesse rubyes now to seeke.
All th' Easts a wildernesse for losse of you,
And bles'd Arabia now turn'd desart too.

 Oh, since wee all confesse our sunne
 Is by thy shining orbs outdone,
 And that the fires (the torrid zone
 Of love creates) are all thy owne,
 Relent thy rigor and our paine,
 Let pitty temper thy disdaine;
Least we thy blaising apparition call
Not our sunn's rising, but our Phæton's fall.

 Oh, tell rich plant whom heaven allowes
 To clime and clipp thy fruetfull bowes?
 Which here transplanted make all sweet,
 And happy they in one to meete.
 That, as in th' other Indian tree,
 Meate, drinke, cloath, light, united be,
So for a portion and dowrye he
May find the summ of all the world in thee.