THINK not, 'caufe men flattering fay,
Y' are fresh as April-sweet as May;
Bright as is the morning ftar,
That you are fo; or though you are,
Be not therefore proud, and deem
All men unworthy your esteem:
For, being fo, you lose the pleasure
Of being fair, fince that rich treasure
Of rare beauty and sweet feature
Was beftow'd on you by nature
To be enjoy'd, and 'twere a fin
There to be scarce, where she hath been
So prodigal of her best graces :
Thus common beauties, and mean faces,
Shall have more paftime, and enjoy
The sport you lose by being coy.
Did the thing for which I fue
Only concern myself, not you;
Were men fo framed as they alone
Had all the pleasure, women none,
Then had you reason to be scant;
But, 'twere a madness not to grant
That which affords (if you consent)
Το you, the giver, more content,
Than me, the beggar; oh then be Kind to yourself if not to me: Starve not yourself, because you may Thereby make me pine away; Nor let brittle beauty make You your wifer thoughts forfake: For that lovely face will fail : Beauty's fweet, but beauty's frail; "Tis sooner past, 'tis fooner done, Than fummer's rain or winter's fun; Moft fleeting, when it is most dear; gone, while we but fay 'tis here. These curious locks, fo aptly twin'd, Whofe every hair a foul doth bind, Will change their auburn hue, and grow White, and cold as winter's fnow. That eye which now is Cupid's neft Will prove his grave; and all the reft Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, Nor lily fhall be found, nor rose. And what will then become of all Those whom you now fervants call? Like swallows, when your fummer's done, They'll fly, and feek fome warmer fun. Then wifely choose one to your friend, Whofe love may (when your beauties end) Remain ftill firm. Be provident, And think before the fummer's spent Of following winter. Like the ant In plenty hoard for time of fcant.
Cull out amongst the multitude
Of lovers that seek to intrude
Into your favour, one that may
Love for an age, not for a day;
For, when the ftorms of time have moved
Waves on that cheek that was beloved;
When a fair lady's cheek is pined,
And yellow fpread where red once shined;
When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her,
Love
may return, but lovers never!
And old folks fay there are no pains
Like itch of love in aged veins.
Oh, love me then! and now begin it,
Let us not lofe this prefent minute;
For time and age will work that wrack,
Which time or age fhall ne'er call back.
The fnake each year fresh skin refumes,
And eagles change their aged plumes,
The faded rofe each spring receives
A fresh red tincture on her leaves;
But if your beauties once decay,
You never know a fecond May.
Oh then be wife, and whilft your feafon
Affords you days for fport, do reafon;
Spend not in vain your life's fhort hour,
But crop in time your beauty's flower,
Which will away, and doth together
Both bud and fade, both blow and wither.
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