Can you count soft minutes roving
From a dial's point by moving?
Can you grasp a sigh? or, lastly,
Rob a virgin's honour chastely?

No, oh no! yet you may

Sooner do both that and this,
This and that, and never miss,
Than by any praise display
Beauty's beauty; such a glory
Is beyond all fate, all story,
All arms, all arts,

All loves, all hearts,

Greater than those or they

Do, shall, and must obey.

John Ford.

Her stature like the tall straight cedar-trees,
Whose stately bulks do fame th' Arabian groves;
A pace like princely Juno, when she braved
The Queen of Love 'fore Paris in the vale;
A front beset with love and courtesy ;
A face like modest Pallas when she blush'd;
A seely shepherd should be beauty's judge.
A lip, sweet ruby-red, graced with delight;
A cheek wherein, for interchange of hue,
A wrangling strife 'twixt lily and the rose;
Her eyes two twinkling stars in winter nights,
When chilling frost doth chill the azure sky;
Her hair, of golden hue, doth dim the beams
That proud Apollo giveth from his coach ;

A foot like Thetis when she tripp'd the sands.
To steal Neptunus' favour with her steps;
A piece, despite of beauty, framed

To show what Nature's lineage could afford.

Robert Greene.

Her Beauty and Goodness combined.

Beauty and she are one, for in her face

Sits sweetness temper'd with majestic grace;
Such powerful charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet such attractive goodness as might draw

The humblest, and to both give equal law.

Duke.

In her Modest Beauty.

And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song,
Form'd by the Graces,―loveliness itself;
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet,
Those looks demure that deeply pierce the soul ;
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd,
Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart.
O come! and while the rosy-footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning dews, and gather in their prime
Fresh-blooming flowers to grace thy braided hair,
And thy loved bosom that improves their sweets.

Thomson.

Her Monopoly of Beauty.

Woman may be said almost to enjoy the monopoly of personal beauty. A good-humoured writer thus defines her position in this respect, as contrasted with the opposite sex:-If you, ladies, are much handsomer than we, it is but just you should acknowledge that we have helped you, by voluntarily making ourselves ugly. Your superiority in beauty is made up of two things:-first, the care which you take to increase your charms; secondly, the zeal which we have shown to heighten them by the contrast of our finished ugliness,―the shadow which we supply to your sunshine. Your long, pliant, wavy tresses are all the more beautiful because we cut our hair short; your hands are all the whiter, smaller, and more delicate, because we reserve to ourselves those toils and exercises which make the hands large and hard. We have devoted entirely to your use flowers, feathers, ribbons, jewellery, silks, gold and silver embroidery. Still more to increase the difference between the sexes, which is your greatest charm, and to give you the handsome share, we have divided with you the hues of nature. To you we have given the colours that are rich and splendid, or soft and harmonious; for ourselves we have kept those that are dark and dead. We have given you sun and light; we have kept night and darkness.

Doran.

Her Beauty compared to an Orchard.

There is a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies grow;

A heavenly Paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow. There cherries grow, that none may buy, Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

These cherries fairly do inclose

Of orient pearl a double row,

Which, when her lovely laughter shows,

They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow:
Yet there no peer, nor prince, may buy,
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes, like angels, watch them still;

Her brows, like bended bows, do stand,
Threatening, with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand,
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

R. Alison.

Her Beauty beyond the Painter's Art.
Painter, the utmost of thy judgment show,
Exceed e'en Titian and great Angelo ;
With all the liveliness of thought express

The moving features of Dorinda's face.

Thou canst not flatter where such beauty dwells,
Her charms, thy colours and thy art excels.
Others, less fair, may from thy pencil have
Graces which sparing Nature never gave;
But in Dorinda's aspect thou wilt see
Such as will pose thy famous art, and thee;

So great, so many in her face unite,

So well proportion'd, and so wondrous bright;
No human skill can e'er express them all,
But must do wrong to th' fair original.

An angel's hand alone the pencil fits,

To mix the colours when an angel sits.

Pomfret.

Her Perennial Beauty.

She is a woman- -one in whom

The spring-time of her childish years
Hath never lost its fresh perfume,

Though knowing well that life hath room

For many blights and many tears.

Lowell.

Beauty tried by Poverty.

A beautiful woman, if poor, should use a double circumspection; for her beauty will tempt others, her poverty herself.

Colton.

Dangerous Power of her Beauty.

Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue?
Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue?
That eye, in liquid circles moving;
That cheek, abash'd at man's approving;
The one, love's arrows darting round,
The other blushing at the wound?

R. B. Sheridan.