Phillis

I that obscured have fled the scene of fame, Intitling my conceits to nought but care, I that have lived a phœnix in love’s flame, And felt that death I never would declare, Now mount the theater of this our age, To plead my faith and Cupid’s cursed rage.

Oh you high sp’rited paragons of wit, That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch, Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit, Able to make the coyest ear to itch; Shroud with your mighty wings that mount so well, These little loves, new crept from out the shell.

And thou the true Octavia of our time, Under whose worth beauty was never matched, The genius of my muse and ragged rime, Smile on these little loves but lately hatched, Who from the wrastling waves have made retreat, To plead for life before thy judgment seat.

And though the fore-bred brothers they have had, Who in their swan-like songs Amintas wept, For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad, And twice obscured in Cinthia’s circle slept, Yet these I hope, under your kind aspect, Most worthy Lady, shall escape neglect.