A Song (“Fair, sweet and young, receive a prize”)

FAIR, sweet and young, receive a prize

Reserv’d for your Victorious Eyes:

From Crowds, whom at your Feet you see,

O pity, and distinguish me;

As I from thousand Beauties more

Distinguish you, and only you adore.

Your Face for Conquest was design’d,

Your ev’ry Motion charms my Mind;

Angels, when you your Silence break,

Forget their Hymns to hear you speak;

But when at once they hear and view,

Are loath to mount, and long to stay with you.

III

No Graces can your Form improve,

But all are lost, unless you love;

While that sweet Passion you disdain,

Your Veil and Beauty are in vain.

In pity then prevent my Fate,

For after dying all Reprieves too late.