I call'd my Muse, the rustic came
With Seward's garland on her brows;
Loose was her hair, her robe the same;
You never saw so wild a blowze.

'Provoking jade!' said I, and frown'd,
'To fair Bettina can I send you?
'Where courtly nicety is found,
'Will that appearance recommend you?

'Your person's good, but you quite spoil it,
'I'm sick to death of flowing tresses;
'I wish to heaven you'd get a toilet,
'And learn to know what taste in dress is.

'Your manners, too, are most absurd,
'A wood nymph in good truth you are;
'You make me blush, upon my word:
'Why, you'll meet all the Graces there.'

'Bless me!' she cried, 'what's here to do?
'I never saw you in such fuss;
'Though beauty makes a fool of you,
'Must I become a changling thus?

'Your worship, too, mistakes the matter,
'I'll set you right and then depart;
'Though Fashion may amuse and flatter,
'Bettina does but laugh at art.

'From observation nice I speak,
'And characters from traits are known;
'The rose and lilly on her cheek
'(Lord how you stare!) are both her own.'