And nature’s failing honestly confess;
Double we see those faults which art would mend,
Plain downright ugliness would less offend.
To Flirtilla.
In church, the prayer-book and the fan displayed,
And the solemn curtesies, show the wily maid;
At plays, the leering looks, and wanton airs,
And nods, and smiles, are fondly meant for snares.
Alas! vain charmer, you no lovers get;
There you seem hypocrite, and here coquet.