Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, To-morrow's Sun to thee may never rise; Or should to-morrow chance to cheer thy sight With her enlivening and unlook'd for light, How grateful will appear her dawning rays! As favours unexpected doubly please.

Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires; And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.

There is in true Beauty, as in Courage, somewhat which narrow Souls cannot dare to admire.

O, she is the antidote to desire.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.