Classic Poem

PAINTER , come here, and draw me to my mind,
The noblest, fairest of the female kind.
First, I would have her hair a chesnut bright,
In various tresses, pleasing to the sight;
For her complexion, let it not be fair,
But something of the black and brunet share:
Leda was black, for whom Jove from above,
In shape of swan, came down to feast his love.
Her forehead gently rising smooth and even,
The mirror of perfection here is seen.
Her eye-brows small, draw with such subtile art
That scarce the like your pencil can impart.
Next, draw these orbs, so full of life, so clear,
Heaven's brightest lights with her's but dull appear;
These eyes of her's, which first my ruin wrought,
Fettered my sense, and chained all my thought;
The pointed rays of which do so combine
To burn me up, they'll me to dust calcine.
Betwixt these orbs, her nose let gently fall,
Which neither swells too big, nor is too small.
Next, let her cheeks with lovely colours shine,
The rose doth there with lilies white combine.
Then draw her ruby lips, which opened show,
Of oriental pearl, the brightest row.
The chin, which bounds the orb of that fair face,
Draw of a just proportion and true grace.
Her alabaster neck, so round, so even,
Where through the skin the azure veins are seen;
These well shap'd shoulders, and these pretty balls,
Where love sits sporting as they rise and fall.
Her round plump arms, her long and milk white hand,
Such charms of body no heart can withstand
Let drapery round her waist and middle go,
In pleasant form, which variously doth flow.
Thy task is done, her clothes the rest conceal,
Happy, thrice happy, he to whom she'll that reveal.
But should I give the picture of her mind,
Where could I words or fit expressions find?