As once in black I disrespected walk'd Where glittering courtiers in their tissues stalk'd, I cast by chance my melancholy eye Upon a woman (as I thought) pass'd by. But when I view'd her ruff and beaver rear'd, As if (Priapus-like) she would have fear'd The rav'nous harpies from the cluster'd grape, Then I began much to mistrust her shape; When, viewing curiously, away she slipp'd, And in a fount her whitest hand she dipp'd. The angry water, as if wrong'd thereby, Ran murmuring thence, a second touch to fly; At which away she stalks, and as she goes, She views the situation of each rose. And having higher rais'd her gown, she gazed Upon her crimson stockings, which amaz'd Blush'd at her open impudence, and sent Reflection to her cheek for punishment. As thus I stood, the gard'ner chanc'd to pass: "My friend," quoth I, "what is this stately lass?" "A maid-of-honour, sir," says he, and goes away, Drawing a riddle was enough to pose The crafty OEdipus; for I could {see} Nor maid nor honour -- sure, no honesty. |