To Amasia, playing with a Clouded Fan

With such resistless grace your Fan you weild,
'Tis now your Sword, and 'tis, when spread, your Sheild.
In your Fair hand so great a Pow'r there's found,
You guard your self with what may others wound.
This, your Fam'd Ensign, to the World does prove
You Queen of War, as well as Queen of Love.
Yet, by your charming skill, you make it show
A greater force than is in Cupid's Bow.
For, from your art my growing Passion came,
And what cools you, has set your Slave on flame.
That Windy Wing, on air it causes, flies,
And wafts bright glories from your radiant Eyes.
But should it now bestow me all its aid,
It would but make those fires, it kindled, spread.
To what excess must you Victorious grow,
If, when you cool us, you can burn us so!
This Fan may you from the Sun's-Beams preserve,
But 'gainst your Eyes no such slight shade can serve.
Not all those Clouds the pitying Artist drew,
Can bar those brighter rays, which dart from you.
From your dear Face, as from a fairer Sky,
Thro' the thick painted Fogs, swift, shining glances fly.
So like true light'ning is the flashing flame,
As if, from those dark Clouds, not from your Eyes it came.
The fatal Sword, which Paradise did guard,
With threat'ning fire Mankind from blessings barr'd.
The dreadful Engine with hot Vengeance burn'd,
And with wild Danger, as it flam'd, it turn'd.
But from your Toy thick Clouds of smoak arise,
While in the Cheat much a worse ruin lies,
Hiding the flames of your destructive Eyes.
In all things else, it does like that appear,
And 'tis a Cherub too that does this Weapon bear.
Almost for the same ends they both were giv'n,
To fence from Par'dise that, and this, from Heav'n.