Is it an angel? A fair peacock
Or jewelled belle? To my mind a shock!
The counter glances of this belle
Are armied dart of the Love-Angel.
Not known before, I spy Demise
In woman's guise with battling eyes.
This artless dame has darting eyes
That drink the life of men who gaze.
Is it death, eye or doe?
AH three In winsome woman's look I see.
If cruel brows unbent, would screen
Her eyes won't cause me trembling pain.
Vest on the buxom breast of her
Looks like rutting tusker's eye-cover.
An these fair brows shatter my might
Feared by foemen yet to meet.
Which jewel can add to her beauty
With fawn-like looks and modesty?
To the drunk alone is wine delight
Nothing delights like love at sight.
BEAUTYS DART
