Of roses, her complexion, belike a charming dream.
Her eyes were sapphire lighted, her lips, with peachen bloom,
Paterre of pearls were framing, but in her heart a tomb;
For many loves lay buried, that cemet'ry below—
O fie on it for ladies, with love, to trifle so.
At last unto a stranger, her stony heart, did strike,
His wealth was most romantic, his name was Hiram Smike.
'Twas on her mother's sofa he looked at her, said he,
"I'm kinder sweet on you, love, will you accept of me?
I've travelled half this orange, and never saw your likes;