Classic Poem

Neæra's Lips, (to which adds Grace
The ambient Whiteness of her Face,
As Coral Berries smiling ly
Within their Case of Ivory)
When Venus saw, she wept, and all
Her little Loves did to her call.
What boots it (cries she) that on Ide
From Pallas and Joves Sister-Bride
My Lips the glorious Prize did gain
By judgement of the Phrygian Swain,
If now another Arbiter
Neæra's may to mine prefer?
Go, spend upon him every Dart,
Empty your Quivers on his Heart;
But into hers a Frost, that may
Congeal her youthful veins, convey.
This scarce was spoke, but strait I felt
My Soul in a soft Flame to melt;
Whilst thy white Breast, which far outgoes
In coldness Winters sharpest Snows,
In hardness Adria's stubborn Rocks,
Thy suffering Lover safely mocks.
Ungrateful, for those Lips am I
Tormented thus, nor know'st thou why
Thou hat'st, or what Effects may rise
From discontented Deities:
Remit thy Anger, and assume
A smile that may thy Cheek become;
Thy Lips (of all my Misery
The onely Cause) to mine apply;
And from my scorching Bosom draw
A warmth that may thy Coldness thaw;
Jove fear not, nor Cythera's hate;
Beauty controls the Power of Fate.