_She blows the Youthful Lovers flame,_ _And promises a sure repose;_ _Whilst with a Treason void of shame,_ _His fancy’d Happiness o’re-throws._ _Her Language is all soft and fair_ } _But her hid Sense is naught but Air,_ } _And can no solid reason bear;_ } _As often as she speaks,_ _Her faithless Word she breaks;_ _Great in Pretension, in Performance small,_ _And when she Swears ‘tis Perjury all._ _Her Promises like those of Princes are,_ _Made in Necessity and War,_ _Cancell’d without remorse, at ease,_ _In the voluptuous time of Peace._ II. _These are her qualities; but yet_ _She has a Person full of Charms,_ _Her Smiles are able to beget_ _Forgiveness for her other harms;_ _She’s most divinely shap’d, her Eyes are sweet,_ _And every Glance to please she does employ,_ _With such address she does all persons treat_ _As none are weary of her flattery,_ _She still consoles the most afflicted Hearts,_ _And makes the Proud vain of his fancy’d Arts._ Amongst the rest of those who dayly came, T’ admire this _Princess_, and oblige their flame, (Conducted thither by a false report, } That Happiness resided in her Court) } Two young successless Lovers did resort: } One, so above his Aim had made pretence, That even to Hope, for him, was Impudence; Yet he ‘gainst Reasons Arguments makes War, And vainly Swore, his Love did merit her. Boldly Attempted, daringly Addrest, And with unblushing Confidence his flame confest. The other was a Bashful Youth, who made His Passion his _Devotion_, not his _Trade_; No fond opiniater, who a price Sets on his Titles, Equipage, or Eyes, But one that had a thousand Charms in store, Yet did not understand his _Conquering_ Pow’r: This _Princess_ with a kind Address receives These Strangers; and to both new Courage gives. She animates the haughty to go on! Says--_A Town long besieg’d must needs be won._ _Time and Respect remove all obstacles,_ _And obstinate Love arrives at Miracles._ _Were she the Heir to an illustrious Crown,_ _Those Charms, that haughty meen, that fam’d renown,_ _That wond’rous skill you do in Verse profess,_ _That great disdain of common Mistresses;_ _Can when you please with aid of Billet Deux,_ _The Royal Virgin to your Arms subdue,_ _One skill’d in all the Arts to please the fair,_ _Shou’d be above the Sense of dull despair:_ _Go on, young noble Warrier, then go on,_ _Though all the fair are by that Love undone._ Then turning to the other: _Sir_, said she, _Were the bright Beauty you Adore like me,_