Drummond, William: xv. To my ladye Mary Wroath.
[from The Poetical Works (1913)]
Who can (great lady) but adore thy name
To which the sacred band are bound to bow.
Of men your vncle first, of woemen yow,
Both grace this age, & it to both giues fame.
Your spacious thoughts with choice inuentiones free,
Show passiones power, affectiones seuerall straines;
And yet one sort, and that most rare remaines,
Not told by you, but to be proud by me.
No face at all could haue my hart subdued,
Though beautyes Sune in the Meridian shind;
Yet by the glorye lightning from a mynd,
I am her captiue whom I neuer knew.
Sprightes wanting bodyes are not barrd from loue,
But feele, not tuching; see, though wanting eyes;
Aboue grosse senses reach true vertue flyes,
And doth by sympathye effectuall proue.
Then wonder not to see this flame burst forth,
Nor blame mee not who dare presume so much;
I honor but the best, and hold you such;
None can deserue & I discerne your worth.
In spight of fortune though you should disdaine,
I can enjoy this fauour fate assignes;
Your speaking portrait drawn with liuing lines,
A greater good than louers vse to gaine.
My loue may (as begune) last without sight,
And by degrees contemplatiuly grow;
Yet from affection curious thoughtes most flow:
I long to know whence comes so great a light,
And wish to see (since so your spright excelles)
The Paradise where such an Angell dwelles.