Ode — To Chloe (False one, farewell, thou hast releast)

False one, farewell, thou hast releast
The Fire, imprison'd in my breast,
Your beauties make not half the show
They did a year or two ago;
For now I find,
The Beauties those fair walls enshrin'd,
Foul, and deform'd appear,
Ah! where
In Woman is a spotless mind?

I would not now take up thine Eyes,
But in revenge to tyrannize;
Nor should'st thou make me blot my skin,
With the black thou wear'st within;
If thou would'st meet,
As Brides do, in the Nuptial Sheet,
I would not kiss, nor play;
But say,
Thou nothing hast that can be sweet.

I was betray'd, by that fair Sign,
To entertainment cold within;
But found that fine built Fabrick lin'd,
With so ill contriv'd a Mind,
That now I must,
For ever (Chloe) leave to trust
The face that so beguiles
With smiles;
Falsehood's a charm to love, or lust.