The Advice

Poor Celia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching eye she had,
Most neatly look'd her braided hair,
Her dainty cheeks would make you mad,
Upon her lip did all the Graces play,
And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay.

Then many a doting lover came
From seventeen till twenty-one,
Each told her of his mighty flame,
But she, forsooth, affected none.
One was not handsome, t'other was not fine,
This of tobacco smelt, and that of wine.

But t'other day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone,
I saw no coach before her gate,
But at the door I heard her moan:
She dropt a tear, and sighing, seem'd to say,
Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!