Give Beauty all her right!
  She’s not to one form tied;
Each shape yields fair delight
  Where her perfections bide:
Helen, I grant, might pleasing be,
And Ros’mond was as sweet as she.

Some the quick eye commends,
  Some swelling lips and red;
Pale looks have many friends,
  Through sacred sweetness bred:
Meadows have flowers that pleasures move,
Though roses are the flowers of love.

Free beauty is not bound
  To one unmovèd clime;
She visits every ground
  And favours every time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My sovereign is as sweet and fair.