On Gold

Beauty's a bawble, a trifle in price!
'Tis glass, or 'tis something as glaring;
But set it in gold—'tis so wonderful nice,
That a prince shall be proud in the wearing.
How feeble the transport when passion is gone,
How pall'd when the honey-moon's over!
When kissing—and cooing—and toying are done,
'Tis gold must enliven the lover.