Classic Poem

HIS ELECTION OF MY LADY A. W. FOR HIS MISTRESS .

I

H EAR this, and tremble, all
Usurping Beauties, that create
A government tyrannical,
In Love's free state!
Justice hath to the sword of your edged eyes
His equal balance join'd; his sage head lies
In Love's soft lap, which must be just and wise,

II.

Hark! how the stern law breathes
Forth amorous sighs, and now prepares
No fetters, but of silken wreaths,
And braided hairs;
His dreadful rods and axes are exiled,
Whilst he sits crown'd with roses: Love hath filed
His native roughness; Justice is grown mild.

III.

The golden age returns!
Love's bow and quiver useless lie;
His shaft, his brand nor wounds nor burns,
And cruelty
Is sunk to hell; the fair shall all be kind;
Who loves shall be beloved, the froward mind
To a deformed shape shall be confined.

IV.

Astraea hath possess'd
An earthly seat and now remains
In Finch's heart, but Wentworth's breast
That guest contains;
With her she dwells, yet hath not left the skies,
Nor lost her sphere: for, new enthroned, she cries,
I know no Heaven but fair Wentworth's eyes.