A Black Patch on Lucasta's Face

Dull as I was, to think that a court fly
            Presum'd so neer her eye;
            When 'twas th' industrious bee
        Mistook her glorious face for paradise,
To summe up all his chymistry of spice;
  With a brave pride and honour led,
  Neer both her suns he makes his bed,
And, though a spark, struggles to rise as red.
            Then aemulates the gay
              Daughter of day;
      Acts the romantick phoenix' fate,
  When now, with all his sweets lay'd out in state,
    LUCASTA scatters but one heat,
And all the aromatick pills do sweat,
And gums calcin'd themselves to powder beat,
          Which a fresh gale of air
          Conveys into her hair;
          Then chaft, he's set on fire,
And in these holy flames doth glad expire;
      And that black marble tablet there
        So neer her either sphere
      Was plac'd; nor foyl, nor ornament,
But the sweet little bee's large monument.

<65.1> The following is a poet's lecture to the ladies of his time on the long prevailing practice of wearing patches, in which it seems that Lucasta acquiesced:—

                BLACK PATCHES.
              VANITAS VANITATUM.
     LADIES turn conjurers, and can impart
     The hidden mystery of the black art,
     Black artificial patches do betray;
     They more affect the works of night than day.
     The creature strives the Creator to disgrace,
     By patching that which is a perfect face:
     A little stain upon the purest dye
     Is both offensive to the heart and eye.
     Defile not then with spots that face of snow,
     Where the wise God His workmanship doth show,
     The light of nature and the light of grace
     Is the complexion for a lady's face.
          FLAMMA SINE FUMO, by R. Watkyns, 1662, p. 81.

In a poem entitled THE BURSSE OF REFORMATION, in praise of the New Exchange, printed in WIT RESTORED, 1658, patches are enumerated among the wares of all sorts to be procured there:—

     "Heer patches are of every cut,
      For pimples and for scars."

They were also used for rheum, as appears from a passage in
WESTWARD HOE, 1607:—

   "JUDITH. I am so troubled with the rheum too. Mouse, what's
             good for it?
    HONEY. How often I have told you you must get a patch."
                  Webster's WORKS, ed. Hazlitt, i. 87. See
Durfey's PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, v. 197.

"Mrs. Pepys wore patches, and so did my Lady Sandwich and her daughter."—DIARY, 30 Aug. and 20 Oct. 1660.

ANOTHER.

                     I.
As I beheld a winter's evening air,
Curl'd in her court-false-locks of living hair,
Butter'd with jessamine the sun left there.

                     II.
Galliard and clinquant she appear'd to give,
A serenade or ball to us that grieve,
And teach us A LA MODE more gently live.

                    III.
But as a Moor, who to her cheeks prefers
White spots, t' allure her black idolaters,
Me thought she look'd all ore-bepatch'd with stars.

                     IV.
Like the dark front of some Ethiopian queen,
Vailed all ore with gems of red, blew, green,
Whose ugly night seem'd masked with days skreen.

                     V.
Whilst the fond people offer'd sacrifice
To saphyrs, 'stead of veins and arteries,
And bow'd unto the diamonds, not her eyes.

                     VI.
Behold LUCASTA'S face, how't glows like noon!
A sun intire is her complexion,
And form'd of one whole constellation.

                    VII.
So gently shining, so serene, so cleer,
Her look doth universal Nature cheer;
Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.

TO LUCASTA.

                      I.
  I laugh and sing, but cannot tell
  Whether the folly on't sounds well;
               But then I groan,
               Methinks, in tune;
Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air
          Of my despised prayer.

                      II.
  A pretty antick love does this,
  Then strikes a galliard with a kiss;
               As in the end
               The chords they rend;
So you but with a touch from your fair hand
          Turn all to saraband.