Rhymes, to Miss Charlot Clayton. 

As Damon was pensively walking one day,
 Three pretty tight lasses he met in his way:
 And who should they be, that were taking the air,
 But Nelly, and Molly, and Charlot so fair. 
The swain, who to beauty had never been blind,
 Thought this was the season to tell 'em his mind:
 But first he debated, to which lovely lass
 He should offer his tenders, and open his case. 
That Nelly was pretty he could not deny,
 But Molly, he thought, had the sprightliest eye;
 So on her his affections they rested awhile,
 'Till Charlot appear'd, with a look and a smile:
 With a look and a smile which sure mischief had done,
 Had the swain been encounter'd by Charlot alone. 

Perplext in his thought, and disturb'd in his breast,
 And unable to tell which bright lass he lov'd best;
 He folded his arms, to the grove he retir'd,
 And decently on the green willow expir'd. 

To Damon's sad fate lend a pitying ear,
 For three at a time what poor mortal could bear? 
One alone, trust me Charlot, had made him rejoice,
 And the swain been quite happy — "With what?"
 — Hopson's choice.