On the Author's Valentine, Mrs. METCALF.

Could I charm the queen of love,
To lend a quill of her white dove;
Or one of Cupid's pointed wings
Dipt in the fair Caftalian Springs;
Then would I write the all divine
Perfections of my Valentine.

As 'mongst, all flow'rs the Rose excells,
As Amber 'mongst the fragrant'st smells,
As 'mongst all minerals the Gold,
As Marble 'mongst the finest mold,
As Diamond 'mongst jewels bright
As Cynthia 'mongst the lesser lights[3]:
So 'mongst the Northern beauties shine,
So far excels my Valentine.

In Rome and Naples I did view
Faces of celestial hue;
Venetian dames I have seen many,
(I only saw them, truck'd not any)
Of Spanish beauties, Dutch and French,
I have beheld the quintessence[3]:
Yet saw I none that could out-shine,
Or parallel my Valentine.

Th' Italians they are coy and quaint.
But they grosly daub and paint;
The Spanish kind, and apt to please,