Classic Poem

Away, away,--your flattering arts,
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.

ANSWER TO THE ABOVE, ADDRESS'D TO MISS ----.

Dear simple girl those flattering arts,
(From which you'd guard frail female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of your own creation;
For he who sees that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face;
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee;
Once let you at your mirror glance,
You'll there descry that elegance,
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.--
Then he who tells you of your beauty,
Believe me only does his duty;
Ah! fly not from the candid youth,
It is not flattery, but truth.



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