Hail, O Belinda, flatter'd Fair,
With brazen Front, and colour'd Hair;
With no small Prominence of Chin,
A doubtful Fame, a borrow'd Skin,
Whose Eyes no winning Graces boast
Of Beardless Boys, the fav'rite Toast;
With Laura durst thy Pride compare?
Thee shall a beauteous Age call fair?
Shall Oxford Lovers grow so blind?
O! foolish Age! O! dull Mankind!