Classic Poem

Should ev'ry grace your face adorn,
And elegance compose your form,
In this no lasting worth you'll find,
That's beauty — which adorns the mind.
This well enrich'd — unspotted — pure,
Will peace through life and death insure.
External beauty has no charms,
If disengag'd from Virtue's arms.

If, when arriv'd to blooming years,
A suitor for your heart appears,
To tell my Harriot how to choose,
Whom to accept and whom refuse,
I own a task beyond my pen:
For such the deep deceits of men,
And such their power o'er female hearts,
We cannot penetrate their arts.
Their tempers and defects they hide,
Till they obtain the wish'd-for bride,
And then they cast the veil aside.
Thus after each precaution taken,
Too oft we find ourselves mistaken.

But this I will be bold to say,
If one his dull address should pay,
Who wants politeness, grace, or sense,
Or tinctur'd with extravagance;
What — tho' he whines, and weeps, and sighs,
And vows, without your love, he dies;
At once reject the worthless youth,
He knows no love — 'Tis all untruth.
For Love's exalted streams ne'er flow,
In souls so abject, and so low.
Though he may thousands boast a year,
Reject him — for 'tis bought too dear;
For should you e'er in wedlock dwell
With such a man — your life's a hell.
Hope not — 'tis vain, — his bent to turn,
Too late you will your folly mourn.
Your softest words and tears are lost,
Your hopes and fondest wishes crost;
As soon you'll wash an Ethiope white,
As make him worthy your delight.
Then shun the snare, my counsel prize,
Lest sad experience make you wise!