Cynthia Sleeping in a Garden (Sonnet)

NEAR a cool Fountain, on a Rose-bed lay
My Cynthia, sleeping in the open Air;
Whom Sol espy'd, and seeing her so Fair,
Gaz'd, till his wanton Coursers lost their Way.

The proudest Flowers were not asham'd to find,
Their Scent, and Colour rivall'd in her Face;
Her bright curl'd Hairs were toss'd from Place to Place,
On Neck and Bosom by the Amorous Wind.

Her Smiles were animated by her Breath,
Which still as soon as born receiv'd their Death,
Being Mortal made in Pity to Mens Hearts:

Poor Lovers then did lye and take their Rest,
For the Blind Boy who does our Peace molest,
Had in her sleeping Eyes hid all his Darts.