The Defiance

Be not too proud, imperious Dame,
Your charms are transitory things,
May melt, while you at Heaven aim,
Like Icarus's waxen wings;
And you a part in his misfortunes bear,
Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despair.

You think your beauties are above
The Poet's brain and Painter's hand,
As if upon the Throne of Love
You only should the world command:
Yet know, though you presume your title true,
There are pretenders that will rival you.

There's an experienc'd rebel, Time,
And in his squadron's Poverty;
There's Age that brings along with him
A terrible artillery:
And if against all these thou keep'st thy crown,
Th' usurper Death will make thee lay it down.