BEAUTY TO THE
BEAUX OF WILLIAMSBURG.
Gallants! who now so brisk and gay
From night to morn can dance away
As if you ne’er could tire,
Can beauty only warm your heels?
What, is there not one beau that feels
Her flame a little higher?
Have Phœbus and the sacred Nine
Been banished from their wonted shrine
Where Love his tribute paid?
Unaided by Apollo’s rays
Will hymeneal altars blaze
Though sacrifice be made?
Gods! shall Amanda pass unsung?
Shall Stella fair and gay and young
Not swell the note of praise?
Shall blythe Cassandra’s art and fire,
Her tuneful voice and tuneful lyre
No kindred effort raise?
Shall gentle Mira’s sparkling eyes,
In ambuscade where Cupid lies,
Still sparkle on in vain,
As if, instead of lambent fire,
Like Leoparda’s filled with ire
Or clouded with disdain?
Shall twenty other Nymphs beside
Unnoticed pass adown the tide
Of Time so swiftly flowing,
Without one stanza to their praise
To tell the folks of future days
That they were worth the knowing?
Should Valentine’s once blythesome day
Thus quite neglected pass away,
Like some dull Sunday morning,
Narcissa may begin to frown,
Nay, Flora with disdain look down,
So Beaux, I give you warning.