Scrape no more your harmless Chins, Old Beaux, in hope to please; You shou'd repent your former Sins, Not study their Increase; Young awkard Fops, may shock our Sight, But you offend by Day and Night. In vain the Coachman turns about, And whips the dappl'd Greys; When the old Ogler looks out, We turn away our Face. True Love and Youth will ever charm, But both affected, cannot warm. Summer-fruits we highly prise, They kindly cool the Blood; But Winter berries we despise, And leave 'em in the Wood; On the Bush they may look well, But gather'd, lose both taste and smell. That you languish, that you dye, Alas, is but too true; Yet tax not us with Cruelty, Who daily pity you. Nature henceforth alone accuse, In vain we grant, if she refuse. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (2) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE SONNET TO A NEGRO IN HARLEM by HELENE JOHNSON BETH GELERT; OR, THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND by WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER SONNET: 5 by RICHARD BARNFIELD ON TURNING A STONE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ON A GRAVE IN THE FOREST by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |