Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN OLD MAN'S GIFT TO A FAIR LADY, by CHARLES COTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN OLD MAN'S GIFT TO A FAIR LADY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Pox o' your doting coxcomb! Was there ever
Last Line: I wish instead of them th' hadst given her me.
Subject(s): Gifts & Giving; Love - Age Differences


Pox o' your doting Coxcomb! was there ever
So old a Lover, and so young a Giver?
A pair of Spectacles! who the Devil, but thee,
Could have found out such a disparity?
There were, t' oblige thy Love, far better ways,
A lump of sugar, or her name in bays,
A row of pins, a baby, or a purse,
Or what as fit had been, a hobby-horse,
A Valentine, had'st thou not wanted blood
To paint it with, would have been full as good.
Thy old seal-ring, thy Grandam's pleated gown,
A boon-grace to preserve her from the sun.
Or any thing, rather than a dull pair
Of second eyes, these must deform thy Fair.

I see, thou fain would'st blast her in her prime
To parallel thy age before her time.
What do'st thou think thy Mistress cannot see
Without such helps, thy full deformity;
Thy shaking noddle, and thy dropping nose,
Whence the moist philtre is salt rhume that flows?
Thy stooping shoulders, and thy trembling hands,
Thy bursten belly, and thy crinkling hams,
Thy spider's legs, and thy club'd corny feet,
That stink, though grown so dry they cannot sweat?
Or would'st thou have thy Love a bugbear be,
To fright the boys in snavelling like thee?
Or is 't to stop her sense she may not smell,
The tainted winds, that in thy bowels swell,
Until they burst in cracks; nor snuff the scent
Thy nasty, suppurated issues vent?

I am content to think this gift was bought
In mirth, and given her for a merry-thought.
Are they to mend her sight, or dim her eyes,
So to eclipse her sight from seeing these?
'Twas thy good nature made thee give such ware,
And so, in troth, the present was most rare.
For the great kindness of this gift implies,
Thou lov'st thy Mistress better than thine eyes.

If to find out, thou ever had'st design
A present fit to offer at her shrine;
Thou should'st have bought the Sun, that Day of light,
And all the twinkling Beauties of the Night,
And yet, those glories of that arched Scene
Had been for her an offering too mean.
Embroider'd waistcoats, Spanish gloves, or plate,
Watches, or jewels might become her state.
But could'st thou find out no allurement else?
A pair of nasty horn-set Spectacles!
Where were thy wits, old Fool? she might have borne
With them, if set in Amalthea's horn;
And had those green-glass orbs been cut from some
O' th' crystal sphere, they might her eyes become.
The case might have passed too if made it were
Of the embroider'd girdle o' th' next sphere:
But such a wretched Rogue, with such an itch,
Never made love to any wrinkled Witch.
Sure thou hast heard, that Love is blind, and thou
By this device would'st be a Cupid too.
A pleasant plot i' faith! thou would'st be then
A pretty boy of fourscore years, and ten.
Or thou had'st laid 'em by, and wanting light
Bestow'dst them for some gem, as well thou might.
Or else amaz'd by th' lustre of her face
Mistaking gav'st them for a looking glass.

Howe'er, whether thou didst, or didst not see,
I wish instead of them th' hadst given her me.





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