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(A Song, c. 1700)
DORIS, a nymph of riper age, | |
| Has every grace and art; | |
| A wise observer to engage, | |
| Or wound a heedless heart. | |
| Of native blush and rosy dye | 5 |
| Time has her cheek bereft; | |
| Which makes the prudent nymph supply, | |
| With paint, the injurious theft. | |
| Her sparkling eyes she still retains, | |
| And teeth in good repair; | 10 |
| And her well-furnish’d front disdains | |
| To grace with borrow’d hair. | |
| Of size, she is nor short nor tall, | |
| And does to fat incline | |
| No more than what the French would call | 15 |
| Aimable embonpoint. | |
| Farther her person to disclose | |
| I leave—let it suffice, | |
| She has few faults, but what she knows, | |
| And can with skill disguise. | 20 |
| She many lovers has refused, | |
| With many more complied | |
| Which, like her clothes, when little used, | |
| She always lays aside. | |
| She’s one who looks with great contempt | 25 |
| On each affected creature, | |
| Whose nicety would seem exempt | |
| From appetites of nature. | |
| She thinks they want or health or sense, | |
| Who want an inclination; | 30 |
| And therefore never takes offence | |
| At him who pleads his passion. | |
| Whom she refuses, she treats still | |
| With so much sweet behaviour, | |
| That her refusal, through her skill | 35 |
| Looks almost like a favour. | |
| Since she this softness can express | |
| To those whom she rejects, | |
| She must be very fond, you’ll guess, | |
| Of such whom she affects. | 40 |
| But here our Doris far outgoes | |
| All that her sex have done; | |
| She no regard for custom knows, | |
| Which reason bids her shun. | |
| By reason, her own reason’s meant, | 45 |
| Or, if you please, her will; | |
| For when this last is discontent, | |
| The first is served but ill. | |
| Peculiar, therefore, is her way; | |
| Whether by nature taught, | 50 |
| I shall not undertake to say, | |
| Or by experience bought. | |
| But who o’er night obtain’d her grace, | |
| She can next day disown; | |
| And stare upon the strange man’s face, | 55 |
| As one she ne’er had known. | |
| So well she can the truth disguise, | |
| Such artful wonder frame, | |
| The lover or distrusts his eyes, | |
| Or thinks ’twas all a dream. | 60 |
| Some censure this as lewd and low, | |
| Who are to bounty blind; | |
| For to forget what we bestow, | |
| Bespeaks a noble mind. | |
| Doris our thanks nor asks her needs, | 65 |
| For all her favours done: | |
| From her love flows, as light proceeds | |
| Spontaneous from the sun. | |
| On one or other still her fires | |
| Display their genial force, | 70 |
| And she, like Sol, alone retires, | |
| To shine elsewhere of course. | |
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