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)