Classic Poem

Why with our False Looks, shou'd you cavil so?
Since you your self no other to us show;
Since with Feign'd Looks, False Charms, thou'dst cozen me,
With Feign'd Love, False Oaths, I may justly thee;
Since both thy Face and Mind, show so much Art.
Why may not I show thee some, in my Heart?
But thy False Looks not only cozen me,
But of thy Lover's Kinder Looks, will thee;
Your Artful Face and Mind, design'd alone,
To make you more Admirers, leave you none;
Since Pictures are but to be look'd upon;
Warm Love wou'd bring Oil'd Beauty to decay,
A Kiss wou'd your Complexion take away,
Our Love wou'd your Art (as that us) betray;
A stolen Kiss wou'd steal away thy Face,
To make our Admiration thy Disgrace;
A private Kiss wou'd grow thy public Shame,
Thee more, than kissing thee in Bed, defame;
Taking your Artificial Blush away,
Your secret Fraud of Paint to us display,
Show by your Charms Repairs, but their Decay;
To show Men, thou, like painted Images,
Art meant their Sight, and not their Touch to please;
To be, like Paint, at distance more admir'd,
But by their Eyes alone, to be desir'd;
To hang, not on our Necks, but Chamber-Walls,
Like Pictures, only to be kept from Falls,
And, but to be expos'd in Public Sales;
To give us Pleasure only, in the Light,
No Satisfaction in the Dark, or Night;
But if you'd have your Picture please us all,
Once let us see its right Original;
For, ev'n the right, and true, tho' long since made,
(Nay, tho' by keeping, Time, defac'd, decay'd,)
Will be judg'd of more Value, please us more,
Than those, which are spoil'd, by new Daubing o'er;
Leave off thy Mask of Paint, which only does,
Like Masks, thy Shame, hiding thy Face, expose;
At once thy Beauty's, and thy Fame's Disgrace,
Impudent Shame, in hiding thy true Face,
Does Curiosity, not Love incite,
Men to your Shame's Discovery invite;
For Shame, leave your old Mask of Colours off,
Since your Face were, without it, well enough,
Which is, as more you hide its Shame, its Proof;
Since a false Dame's false Looks, and Arts are spy'd,
More, but the more, she them designs to hide;
Then do not impudently put on so,
Blushes of Paint, more to disparage you;
By which, you Nature's Imperfections own,
Which, more you'd hide 'em, more are by you shown;
But more still, to forbid Mens kissing you,
As more you wou'd invite 'em to it, so;
Then on thy Cheeks, or Lips, no Colours lay,
Lest that our Kisses shou'd your Shame betray,
Taking your borrow'd Beauty quite away;
And your own Lips, two Witnesses shou'd prove,
Of our stol'n Kisses, and our secret Love;
Like Lying Witnesses, by looking Pale,
Shou'd own, ev'n in denying our Love, all.