Xix

Restore thy tresses to the golden ore, Yield Cytherea's son those arks of love; Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore, And to the orient do thy pearls remove; Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory white; T'Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet; Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright; To Thetis give the honour of thy feet. Let Venus have the graces she resigned, And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres; But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind To Hyrcan tigers and to ruthless bears; Yield to the marble thy hard heart again; So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to pain.