A SONG.

WRITTEN TO A LADY.

WHEN the nymphs were contending for beauty and fame,
 Fair Sylvia stood foremost in right of her claim,
 When to crown the high transports dear conquest excites,
 At court she was envy'd and toasted at White's. 

II.

But how shall I whisper this fair one's sad case? 
A cruel disease has spoil'd her sweet face;
 Her vermillion is chang'd to a dull settled red,
 And all the gay graces of beauty are fled. 

III.

Yet take heed, all ye fair, how you triumph in vain,
 For Sylvia, tho' alter'd from pretty to plain,
 Is now more engaging fince reason took place,
 Than when she possess'd the perfections of face. 

IV.

Convinc'd she no more can coquet it and teaze,
 Instead of tormenting — she studies to please:
 Makes truth and discretion the guide of her life,
 And tho' spoil'd for a toast, she's well form'd for a wife.