SElinda sure’s the brightest thing,
That decks the earth, or breaths our air;
Mild are her looks like opening spring,
And like the blooming summer fair.
But then her wit’s so very small,
That all her charms appear to ly,
Like glaring colours on a wall,
And strike no further than the eye.
Our eyes luxuriously she treats,
Our ears are absent from the feast,
One sense is surfeited with sweets,
Starv’d or disgusted are the rest.
So have I seen with aspect bright,
And taudry pride, a tulip swell,
Blooming and beauteous to the sight,
Dull and insipid to the smell.