Barefoot and ragged, with neglected hair,
She whom the Heavens at once made poor and fair,
—With humble voice and moving words did stay,
—To beg an alms of all who passed that way.

But thousands viewing her became her prize,
Willingly yielding to her conquering eyes,
—And caught by her bright hairs, whilst careless she
—Makes them pay homage to her poverty.

So mean a boon, said I, what can extort
From that fair mouth, where wantom Love to sport
—Amidst the pearls and rubies we behold?
Nature on thee has all her treasures spread,
Do but incline thy rich and precious head,
—And those fair locks shall pour down showers of gold.