Classic Poem

To the Right Honourable the Lady F.

Madam.
 You saw our loves, & prais'd the mutuall flame:
 In which as incense to your sacred name
 Burnes a religious zeale. May be lost
 To one another, and our fire be frost;
 When we omit to pay the tribute due
 To worth and vertue, and in them to you:
 Who are the soule of women. Others be
 But beauteous parts oth' female body; she
 Who boasts how many nimble Cupids skip
 Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip;
 The other who in her soft brests can show
 Warme Violets growing in a banke of snow,
 And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:
 Nor is she but a hand, who holds within
 The crystall violl of her wealthy palme,
 The precious sweating of the wealthy palme,
 And all these if you them together take,
 And joyne with art, will but one body make,
 To which the soule each vitall motion gives;
 You are infus'd into it, and it lives.
 But should you up to your blest mansion flie,
 How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?
 You are all mind. Castara when she lookes,
 On you th' Epitome of all, that bookes
 Or e're tradition taught; who gives such praise
 Vnto your sex, that now even custome sayes
 He hath a female soule, who ere hath writ
 Volumes which learning comprehend, and wit.
  Castara cries to me; Search out and find
 The Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,
 And trace her steps to honour; I aspire
 Enough to worth, while I her worth admire.
To the Right Honourable the Lady F.

Madam.
 You saw our loves, & prais'd the mutuall flame:
 In which as incense to your sacred name
 Burnes a religious zeale. May be lost
 To one another, and our fire be frost;
 When we omit to pay the tribute due
 To worth and vertue, and in them to you:
 Who are the soule of women. Others be
 But beauteous parts oth' female body; she
 Who boasts how many nimble Cupids skip
 Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip;
 The other who in her soft brests can show
 Warme Violets growing in a banke of snow,
 And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:
 Nor is she but a hand, who holds within
 The crystall violl of her wealthy palme,
 The precious sweating of the wealthy palme,
 And all these if you them together take,
 And joyne with art, will but one body make,
 To which the soule each vitall motion gives;
 You are infus'd into it, and it lives.
 But should you up to your blest mansion flie,
 How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?
 You are all mind. Castara when she lookes,
 On you th' Epitome of all, that bookes
 Or e're tradition taught; who gives such praise
 Vnto your sex, that now even custome sayes
 He hath a female soule, who ere hath writ
 Volumes which learning comprehend, and wit.
  Castara cries to me; Search out and find
 The Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,
 And trace her steps to honour; I aspire
 Enough to worth, while I her worth admire.