- I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
- 'T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
- Can't I another's face commend, And to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead lowers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?
- The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals; Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws Whate'er the Grecian Venus was.
- But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.
- Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.
- Labour for his pains.