_Scarce the prying Beams of Light,_ _Or th’ impatient God of Day,_ _Are allow’d so near a Sight,_ _Or dare profane her with a Ray;_ _When she has appear’d to me,_ _Like_ Venus _rising from the Sea._ _But Oh! I must those Charms conceal,_ _All too divine for vulgar Eyes:_ _Should I my secret Joys reveal,_ _Of sacred Trust I break the Ties;_ _And_ Damon _would with Envy die,_ _Who hopes one Day to be as blest as I._ Extravagant with my Joys, I have stray’d beyond my Limits; for I was telling you of the wond’rous Fineness of your Eyes, which no Mortal can resist, nor any Heart stand the Force of their Charms, and the most difficult Conquest they gain, scarce cost ‘em the expence of a Look. They are modest and tender, chaste and languishing. There you may take a view of the whole Soul, and see Wit and Good-Nature (those two inseparable Virtues of the Mind) in an extraordinary measure. In fine, you see all that fair Eyes can produce, to make themselves ador’d. And when they are angry, they strike an unresistible Awe upon the Soul; And those Severities _Damon_ wishes may perpetually accompany them, during their Absence from him; for ‘tis with such Eyes, he would have you receive all his Rivals. _Keep, lovely Maid, the Softness In your Eyes,_ _To flatter_ Damon _with another Day:_ _When at your Feet the ravish’d Lover lies,_ _Then put on all that’s tender, all that’s gay:_ _And for the Griefs your Absence makes him prove,_ _Give him the softest, dearest Looks of Love._ _His trembling Heart with sweetest Smiles caress,_ _And in your Eyes soft Wishes let him find;_ _That your Regret of Absence may confess,_ _In which no Sense of Pleasure you could find:_ _And to restore him, let your faithful Eyes_ _Declare, that all his Rivals you despise._ _The MOUTH of_ IRIS. I perceive your Modesty would impose Silence on me: But, Oh fair _Iris_! do not think to present your self before a Glass, if you would not have it tell you all your Beauties. Content your self that I only speak of ‘em, _en passant_; for should I speak what I would, I should dwell all Day upon each Particular, and still say something new. Give me liberty then to speak of your fine Mouth: You need only open it a little, and you will see the most delicate Teeth that ever you beheld; the whitest, and the best set. Your Lips are the finest in the World; so round, so soft, so plump, so dimpled, and of the loveliest Colour. And when you smile, Oh! what Imagination can conceive how sweet it is, that has not seen you smiling? I cannot describe what I so admire; and ’.is in vain to those who have not seen _Iris_. _Oh_ Iris! _boast that one peculiar Charm,_ _That has so many Conquests made;_ _So innocent, yet capable of Harm;_ _So just it self, yet has so oft betray’d:_ _Where a thousand Graces dwell,_ _And wanton round in ev’ry Smile._