Classic Poem

Your Eyes are Quivers of Love's killing Darts,
To shoot, thro' Lovers Eyes, into their Hearts;
Tho', like an Amazon , your self you prove,
Both by your Back and Breast, a Foe to Love;
Which are at once your Honour's Guard, and Proof,
Since by them, you make Lovers to keep off;
You, as your Eyes are Love's Darts, seem his Bow;
Who, like it, bowing, Execution do;
Your Crookedness, then is your Praise, not Shame,
Since that your Back and Breast secure your Fame;
Because your Crooked Back does lie so high,
That to your Belly there's no coming nigh,
Which, as your Back's more low, more high does lie;
You then all Breast, all Shoulders, and all Head,
To be Love's Term or Limit may be said,
By which our Love-Proceedings are forbidden;
You, because Saddled, never will be Ridden;
Since Nature on your Face such Art bestow'd,
She less has to your other Parts allow'd;
Limners in little so, show so much Art
Upon the Face, they lame each other Part;
Thy curious Limner, Nature thus, (we find)
The Beauties of thy Face did so much mind,
Her Care of one, made t'other worse design'd.