Classic Poem

MADAM ,
W H ilst others study Books, I study you,
And can b'Experience this affirm for true,
Of all your Sex you have the greatest worth
As ever yet these later times brought forth,
And I have Studied many, and some such
As former times could hardly better much,
Your Soul so Spiritual it doth appear
Fram'd for some Angel of a higher Sphere,
However 'twas infus'd, I know not how,
Into a mortal Body here below,
Aspiring restlessly like Fire and Flame
To mount again to th'Sphere from whenc it came,
So nobly active, as it doth by Truth,
As by the World the Macedonian Youth,
As soon as y'ave o'recome and Conquer'd one,
You grieve there are not more to overcome,
There being nothing so Sublime and High
But you can reach in all Philosophy;
Nor so profound and deep again, but you
With ease, can dive and penetrate into,
Your Virtues being so infinite, I find
When I consider but your Soul and Mind,
'Twere easier for me never to begin
Than ever to give o're when once I'm in;
Which whosoe're should go about to tell,
Might number all the Stars of Heav'n as well,
The blades of Grass upon Earth's spacious Plain,
Or Sands the Sea's vast Bosome does contain,
But as your greatest Beauties have their moles,
So some small faults are still in greatest Souls,
And I shall tell you, Madam , what they be,
T'acquit my self, o'th Crime of Flattery:
'Tis an Ambition above mortal state,
And Mind with Glory never satiate,
Without which Glory and Ambition
No noble Action yet was ever done,
So avidious and so Covetous of Fame,
As only for Eternizing their Name
They, as the Phaenix life to's young do's give,
Would be content to die that that might live
But now I'll tell what my opinion is
Of Fame (and pardon if I Judge amiss:)
Fame's but a shadow of great action,
And but the Eccho of't when we are gone,
Than whose Trumpet no Musick is more sweet
Nor none's alive more pleas'd with hearing it,
But I do'nt know what pleasure I should have,
When I am dead with Musick at my Grave.