Those ruffled beaux who beauty prize,
Who love a woman’s killing eyes,
And fair complexion; when these fade,
With sneers exclaim, “The nymph’s decay’d;”
But men of sense, who know, tho’ fair,
How vain external beauties are,
Who love the woman’s nobler part,
The gen’rous, kind and virtuous heart,
Know that her charms will ne’er decay,
Till from the earth they’re snatched away;
Then pure and spotless to the skies
Ascend, and to perfection rise.