In answer to one who Writ against a fair Lady.

WHat Fury has provok't thy wit to dare
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love,
Thy Mistriss's Envy, or thine own Despair?
Not the just Pallas in thy Breast did move
So blind a Rage, with such a different Fate;
He Honour won, where thou hast purchast Hate.
She gave assistance to his Trojan Foe;
Thou that without a Rival thou mayest love,
Dost to the Beauty of this Lady owe,
While after her the Gazing world does move.
Canst thou not be content to Love alone,
Or is thy Mistress not content with one?
Hast thou not read of fairy Arthurs shield,
Which but disclos'd, amaz'd the weaker eyes
Of proudest Foes, and won the doubtful Field?
So shall thy Rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy Iambicks swell into a Book,
All were confuted with one Radiant look.
Heav'n he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies,
Rewarding Ph…ebus, for inspiring so
His noble Brain, by likening to those Eyes
His joyful Beams: but Phoebus is thy Foe,
And neither aids thy Fancy nor thy Sight;
So ill thou Rim'st against so fair a Light.