Copied from the Window of an obscure Lodging House.

What tho' to deck this roof no arts combine
Such forms as rival ev'ry Fair but mine:
No nodding plumes our humble couch above
Proclaim each triumph of unbounded Love;
No silver lamps, with sculptur'd Cupids gay,
O'er yielding Beauty pour their midnight ray:
Yet F ANNY'S charms could Time's slow flight beguile,
Sooth ev'ry care, and make this dungeon smile.
In her what Kings, what Saints, have wish'd is giv'n:
Her Heart is Empire, and her Love is Heav'n.