| |
|
Behold! three
sister-wonders, in whom met,
Distinct and chast, the
splendrous counterfeit
Of Juno, Venus and the warlike
Maid,
Each in their three divinities array'd;
The
majesty and state of Heav'ns great Queen,
And when
she treats the gods, her noble meen;
The sweet
victorious beauties and desires
O' th' sea-born
princess, empresse too of fires;
The sacred arts and
glorious lawrels torn
From the fair brow o' th'
goddesse father-born;
All these were quarter'd in
each snowy coat,
With canton'd honours of their own,
to boot.
Paris, by fate new-wak'd from his dead cell,
Is charg'd to give his doom impossible.
He views in
each the brav'ry of all Ide;
Whilst one, as once
three, doth his soul divide.
Then sighs so equally
they're glorious all:
WHAT PITY THE WHOLE WORLD IS
BUT ONE BALL!
|
|
|
