In beauty faults conspicuous grow; The smallest speck is seen on snow.

If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears; Like the notes of a fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly Raises the spirits, and charms our ears.

I never, with important air, In conversation overbear. . . . . My tongue within my lips I rein; For who talks much must talk in vain.

Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.

But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.

What then in love can woman do? If we grow fond they shun us. And when we fly them, they pursue: But leave us when they've won us.

O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.