Sir Francis Kynaston (1587–1642)

On Concealment of Her Beauty

DO not conceal thy radiant eyes,

The star-light of serenest skies,

Lest wanting of their heavenly light,

They turn to chaos’ endless night.

Do not conceal those tresses fair,

The silken snares of thy curl’d hair,

Lest finding neither gold, nor ore,

The curious silkworm work no more.

Do not conceal those breasts of thine,

More snow-white, than the Apennine,

Lest if there be like cold or frost,

The lily be forever lost.

Do not conceal that fragrant scent,

Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent

Perfumes, lest it being supprest,

No spices grow in all the East.

Do not conceal thy heavenly voice,

Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice,

Lest Music hearing no such thing,

The Nightingale forget to sing.

Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse

Thy pearly teeth with coral lips,

Lest that the seas cease to bring forth

Gems, which from thee have all their worth.

Do not conceal no beauty-grace,

That’s either in thy mind or face,

Lest virtue overcome by vice,

Make men believe no Paradise.