Classic Poem

Gilt pictures Papists for devotion use;
To raise my fancy gilded skin I choose:
No face I see but yellow doth commend;
An Angel is the fee doth th' Cause befriend.
What mad man silver would to gold compare?
Shall we praise white 'fore those that yellow are?
I prais'd a golden skin, but fanci'd there
The gold that reall in her virtues were.
Or 'twas the Image I did there behold
Of what I lov'd; an El'zabeth in Gold.
Say not the yellow Jaundies in my eye,
Or that I new broach Magus heresie:
While in the Church was gold, there was more zeal:
Who gold from thence, sure did Religion steal.
Who picture Angels, make them golden wings;
As if 'tis Angel gold heav'ns blessings brings.
'Tis wonder working gold we Angels call:
None think him blest, no Angel hath at all.
What though I ransack th' treasuries of the deep,
Know all that Nature doth confined keep?
Want gold, though I know all, I nothing know.
Schoolmen say Angels teach all things below;
'Tis gold makes honour'd, lovely, virtuous, wise,
Nay holy too: ah who would gold despise!
An Asse with gold but laden Towns may take,
Nay Kingdomes to her ears Idolaters make.
Was there a Swines fac'd Lady rich indeed,
The Jew would Christian turn, on swines flesh feed.
Yet some rich discontents call glorious hell;
What shall there not be heav'n where Angels dwell?
That joyes be currant virtues Image take;
Let Love be th' gold where you th' impression make;
Love yellow skin for golden may mistake,
Love's an Elixir gold of brasse may make.
Love can the tag of a blew point make more,
Then all the riches pave blew Neptunes shore.

Love is the gold that with no fire will change,
No losse will alter, nor no time estrange.