‘Away, away, your fleeting arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.’
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS —.
Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts,
From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts,
Exist but in imagination,–
Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polish’d mirror glance,
Thou’lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises:
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,–’tis truth.
July 1804
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