Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved; And while around the cadence rude is blown, The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. The soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile! But ere the battle should he list her cries, The lover trembles--and the hero dies! That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear, Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear! But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few, Who give to beauty only beauty's due, Though friends to love--ye view with deep regret Our conquests marr'd, our triumphs incomplete, Till polish'd wit more lasting charms disclose, And judgment fix the darts which beauty throws! In female breasts did sense and merit rule, The lover's mind would ask no other school; Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes, Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise; Would gladly light, their homage to improve, The lamp of knowledge at the torch of love! * * * * * * * * * *