Sylvia, 'tis true you're fair,
More than other women are,
Yet that's no plea to be severe.
Think not those eyes,
'Cause they conquer so much and so much do surprise,
Were ever intended to tyrannise;
For beauty was never design'd
For a grace to that face and a torment and cure to my mind;
To consent and enjoyment it rather should move you,
For were you not handsome, who the Devil would love you.
Then since you're by nature fram'd fit for the sport,
Be kind and complying nor refuse when we court;
Your scorn and your haughty disdain prithee cease,
And since you've the charms, have the will too to please,
For an insolent beauty is nought but disease.