[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
YE beaux of pleasure,
Whose wit at leisure,
Can count love’s treasure,
Its joy and smart;
At my desire,
With me retire,
To know what fire
Consumes my heart.
–
Three moons that hasted,
Are hardly wasted,
Since I was blafted
With beauty’s ray:
Aurora shews ye
No face so rosie,
No July posie
So fresh and gay.
–
Her skin by nature,
No Ermin better,
Tho’ that fine creature
Is white as snow;
With blooming graces
Adorn’d her face is,
Her flowing traces
As black as sloe.
–
She’s tall and slender,
She’s soft and tender;
Some god commend her;
My wit’s too low:
‘Twere joyful plunder,
To bring her under,
She’s all a wonder
From top to toe.
–
Then cease, ye sages,
To quote dull pages,
That in all ages
Our minds are free:
Tho’ great your skill is,
So strong the will is,
My love for Phillis,
Must ever be.
