Such untaught Sweets in every part do move,
As ’gainst my Reason does compel my Love;
Such artless smiles, look so unorder’d too,
Gains more than all the charms of Courts can do;
From Head to Foot, a spotless Statue seems,
As Art, not Nature, had compos’d her Limbs;
So white, and so unblemish’d, oh Curtius!
I’m ravisht beyond Sense when I but think on’t;
How much more must my Surprize be,
When I behold these Wonders.