To Mrs. Shales.

To Mrs. Shales.

I'll not fatigue Belinda's Ear With telling her, "She's fair;" Those Sounds so often she must hear Of Shape, and Face, and Air.

Of Neck as white as falling Snow, And Eyes that Love inspire; What her Glass tells her, she must know, And Repetitions tire.

Besides, the Nymph has too much Sense, To pride in Good so frail; Sees Beauty round beset with Harms, And fears lest some prevail.

Lest flatt'ring Tongues in fair Disguise Should Vanity instil; Observes herself with watchful Eyes, And shuns the baleful Ill:

Bids Caution wait on Innocence, Lest Malice dare to blame; Or Envy, with envenom'd Breath, Should taint her lovely Name.

She knows, that ev'ry Hour that flies, Brings Age upon its Wing: And that ungrateful Word, She was! Has Venom in its Sting.

She thanks kind Heav'n, that made her fair; And knows that Heav'n design'd, That lovely Form she wears, to grace The Beauties of her Mind.

So when the sparkling Brilliant's set In Silver, shining Oar; It adds small Value to the Stone, But makes it please the more.