Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SPELL, by GEORGE STEPNEY


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THE SPELL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Whene'er I wive, young strephon cry'd
Last Line: And sacharissa turns to joan.


WHENE'ER I wive, young Strephon cry'd,
Ye powers that o'er the noose preside!
Wit, beauty, wealth and humour give,
Or let me still a rover live.
But if all these no nymph can share,
And I'm predestined to the snare,
Let mine, ye powers, be doubly fair.
Thus pray'd the swain in heat of blood,
Whilst Cupid at his elbow stood;
And twitching him, said, Youth, be wise,
Ask not impossibilities:
A faultless make, a manag'd wit,
Humour and fortune never met:
But if a beauty you'd obtain,
Court some bright Phillis of the brain;
The dear idea long enjoy,
Clean is the bliss, and will not cloy.
But trust me, youth, for I'm sincere,
And know the ladies to a hair:
Howe'er small poets whine upon it,
In madrigal, and song, and sonnet,
Their Beauty's but a SPELL, to bring
A lover to th' enchanted ring;
Ere the sack posset is digested,
Or half of Hymen's taper wasted,
The winning air, the wanton trip,
The radiant eye, the velvet lip,
From which you fragrant kisses stole,
And seem to suck her springing soul. --
These, and the rest you doted on,
Are nauseous or insipid grown;
The SPELL dissolves, the cloud is gone,
And Sacharissa turns to Joan.





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