There seems at first, within the word,
Some cause to smile, or rally;
But once by her sweet glance preferr’d,
Ev’n Heaven itself loves Sally!
The world moves round when move her Eyes,
Grace o’er each step doth dally,
The breath is lost in glad surprize;
There is no belle, like Sally!
Old hearts grow young, off flies the gout,
Time stops, his Glass to rally;