Classic Poem

Why slightest thou what I approve?
Thou art no Peere to try my Love.
Nor canst discerne where her forme lyes,
Unlesse thou sawst her with my Eyes.
Say shee were foule, and blacker than
The Night, or Sun-burnt African,
If lik't by mee, tis I alone
Can make a beauty where was none.
For rated in my Phant'sy, shee
Is so, as shee appeares to mee.
But 'tis not feature or a face
That does my free Election grace,
Nor is my liking only lead
By a well-tempred White and Red:
Could I enamour'd grow on those,
The Lilly and the blushing Rose
United in one stalk, might bee
As deare unto my thoughts, as shee.
But I look farther, and doe find
A richer Beauty in her mind:
Where somthing is so Lasting Faire,
As Time, or Age cannot empaire.
Hadst thou a Perspective so cleare,
Thou couldst behold my Object there;
When thou hir Vertues shouldst espy,
They'ld force thee to confesse, that I
Had cause to like Hir; And Learne thence
To love by Judgment, not by Sense.