A Fair Nymph scorning a Black Boy courting her.
Nymph. Stand off, and let me take the air;
Why should the smoke pursue the fair?
Boy. My face is smoke, thence may be guessed
What flames within have scorched my breast.
Nymph. The flame of love I cannot view
For the dark lantern of thy hue.
Boy. And yet this lantern keeps Love's taper
Surer than yours, that's of white paper.