To Miss Clarke

To sing of Clarke my Muse aspires,
A theme by charms made quite divine.
Ye tuneful virgins, sound your lyres,
Apollo aid the feeble line.

If truth and virtue, wit and charms,
May for a fixed attention call,
The darts of Love and wounding arms —
The beauteous Clarke shall hold o'er all.

Tis not the tincture of a skin,
The rosy lip, the charming eye;
No, 'tis a greater power within,
That bids the passion never die.

These Clarke possesses, and much more-
All beauty in her glances sport;
She is the goddess all adore
In country, city, and at court.