But beauty has wings, and too hastily flies

The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals; Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws Whate’er the Grecian Venus was.

Can’t I another’s face commend, And to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead lours, As if her merit lessen’d yours?

O Poverty! thou source of human art, Thou great inspirer of the poet’s song!

Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

This is adding insult to injuries.

But from the hoop’s bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.