A Collection of Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis hard to say if Beauty's Charms,
Bring more of Blessings, or of Harms;
So short their Date, so frail their Force,
That oft the Blessing turns a Curse.
Thyrsis was smit, as once he 'spy'd,
A Bed of Lillies in their Pride,
He look'd, admir'd, and prais'd, a-while,
Then snatch'd the Glories from the Soil,
As fondly on his Bosom plac'd,
And taught their Charms to grace his Breast

But soon the Charms began to fade,
And all the flow'ry Glories shed;
The Change, no sooner Thyrsis 'spy'd,
But with the short Possession cloy'd,
The Lillies from his Breast are torn,
A Morning pride, an Evening scorn.
Thus some flush'd Youth, who feels the Flood
Of Fortune, and the Fire of Blood.
Upon some Fair-one casts his Eyes,
And sees ten Thousand Beauties rise;
He pants all o'er, and ev'ry Vein,
Glows fiercely, with redoubled Flame;
Eternal Truth, he swears, and cries
He's slain, and damn'd, if she denies:
Mov'd with his Passion, and Complaint,
Kind Nature draws her to consent,
With soft Reluctance, she complies,
Clings to the Bliss, and heaves, and dies;
But soon, Enjoyment viels her Charms,
No more the Youth, her Beauty warms,
But pall'd, he throws her from his Arms
Dispis'd and loath'd, her Favours grow,
An Angel once, a Strumpet now.