So sweet a Face, so soft a Heart,
Such Eyes so very kind,
Betray, alas! the silly Art
Virtue had ill design’d.
III.
Poor feeble Tyrant! who in vain
Would proudly take upon her,
Against kind Nature to maintain
Affected Rules of Honour.
IV.
The Scorn she bears so helpless proves,
When I plead Passion to her,
That much she fears, (but more she loves,)
Her Vassal should undo her.
[A young Lady to her ancient Lover.]
A SONG.
I.
Ancient Person, for whom I
All the flatt’ring Youth defie;
Long be it e’re thou grow old,
Aking, shaking, crasie, cold.
But still continue as thou art,
Ancient Person of my Heart.