167        Her Muffe

1.

’Twas not for some calm blessing to receive,

Thou didst thy polish’d hands in shagg’d furs weave;

It were no blessing thus obtain’d,

Thou rather would’st a curse have gain’d,

5     Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stain’d.

2.

Not that you feared the discolo’ring cold,

Might alchymize their Silver into Gold;

Nor could your ten white Nuns so sin,

That you should thus pennance them in

10   Each in her course hair smock of Discipline.

3.

Nor Hero-like, who on their crest still wore

A Lyon, Panther, Leopard or a Bore,

To look their Enemies in their Herse;

Thou would’st thy hand should deeper pierce,

15   And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.

4.

No, no, Lucasta, destiny Decreed

That Beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,

And strip themselves to make you gay;

For ne’r yet Herald did display,

20    A Coat, where Sables upon Ermin lay.

5.

This for Lay-Lovers, that must stand at dore,

Salute the threshold, and admire no more:

But I, in my Invention tough,

Rate not this outward bliss enough,

25   But still contemplate must the hidden Muffe.