In all our Cinthia’s shining sphere
Methinks the fairest face is here;
Say, lovely thing,—what art thou?
I came, Sir, from the world below.
I once was mortal flesh and blood,
And scarce my beauty’s bloom display’d,
I dropt—a tender virgin, but I play’d
The fool, and died a maid.
For which the Gods have sent me here,
To shine, a star in Cinthia’s sphere.
So fair a face in a world so base, yet died a maid?
A very, very maid.
Have a care what you say.
A pure, pure maid.
Are you sure you don’t lie?
A pure maid. I’ll tell you why,
The truth that will plainly be seen,
For I died so very young—not full thirteen.
Do you think I would deceive you?
No, I do believe you.
That wonder in an age may once be seen,
There may be a maid not full thirteen.
But were you to live your life over again,
Oh, what would you do then?
I’m very much afraid you would still die a maid,
And keep your virgin innocence unshaken.
I fear you are mistaken.
How? Not die a maid?
No, no, not I.
Not die a maid?
Not die a maid, and I’ll tell you why.
These eyes I’m sure were for love designed,
And these charms they were lent me to bless mankind.
Then shall I die a maid?
No, no, no, no, no, no!
Then will you die a maid?
No, no, no, no, no, no!
No. I hope I have more wit than so.
I hope you have more wit than so.
I’m sure I have more wit than so.
Elkanah Settle (1648-1724)