Classic Poem

Ye fair, who swiftly borne on fashion's gale,
To the gay port of joy and pleasure sail,
From one, who's much your lover, more your friend,
These lines, though humble, yet sincere, attend.
Would ye by beauty with to gain the heart,
Trust to your native charms, secure of art?
Who is there would improve the diamond's glow,
Or to the rose a fairer tint bestow?
The colouring of art, however fair,
May with the bloom of nature ne'er compare;
Oft beauty fails, by art adorn'd, to please,
Resistless in simplicity and ease.
But let not beauty be your only boast,
How small its empire, and how quickly lost;
For, as its fleeting graces fade away,
So quickly too the flames they rais'd decay.
Would ye more pure and constant lovers find,
With sense adorn, with worth improve, your mind;
Let wisdom, goodness, give to beauty grace,
And add attraction to the charms of face.
But chief, be virtuous modesty your care,
Let this direct your words, your looks, your air,
And make your beauties lovely as they're fair:
More charming far the budding flow'ret shows,
Than when in all the pride of bloom it blows.
She, who would win our love, must courtship shun,
The maid herself pursuing is undone;
Beauty may point, may aim, the pow'rful dart,
But modesty must guide it to the heart.