Classic Poem

As in a silent night a lonely swain,
Tending his flocks on the Pharsalian plain,
To heav'n around directs his wand'ring eyes,
And every look finds out a new surprise;
So great's our wonder, Ladies, when we view
Our lower sphere made more serene by you.
O! Could such light in my dark bosom shine,
What life, what vigor should adorn each line!
Beauty and virtue should be all my theme,
And Venus brighten my poetic flame.
Th' advent'rous painter's fate and mine are one,
As he fain would draw the bright meridian sun;
Majestic light his feeble art defies,
And for presuming robs him of his eyes.
Then blame your pow'r, that my inferior lays
Sink far below your too exalted praise.
Don't think we flatter, your applause to gain.
No—we're sincere—to flatter you were vain.
You spurn all fine encomiums misapplied,
And all perfections but your beauties hide.
Then, as you're fair, we hope you will be kind,
Nor frown on those you see so well inclined
To please you most. Grant us your smiles and then
Those sweet rewards will make us act like men.