To Three Ladies who presented me their Verses Written in praise of one another, and in return for my Judgment, told my Fortune

Paris his Beauties must, asham'd, give way,
I Judge three Goddesses, more bright than they.
My bliss beyond what he could boast, has been,
He view'd without, but I have seen within.
Which here excell'd, not Phaebus self could know,
Each seems a Venus, and Minerva too.
The first I like, and I admire the rest,
Still as I read, I think the present, best.
Not any one can the whole Trophie bear,
The Apple, sure, must be divided here.
Let all hereafter on your Beauties gaze,
But none demean them, with a future praise.
Thus, you should all your own perfections tell,
As there is none so fair, there's none can write so well.
The Nine no more shall be ador'd by me,
Henceforth, the Muses shall be only three.
You, our Fair Parcae, know our Fortunes too,
For, all Mankind receive their doom from you.
This Pow'r of yours, by it's own greatness stands,
You read our Hearts, Just as you read our hands.
A knowledge thence, let none hereafter prize,
But look their fates in your Illustrious Eyes.