On taking a Lady's Picture in Church, whilst she sung the Psalm

Let fair Fanilia kindly cease
To blame fond Strephon's Art,
He stole a Likeness of her Face,
Fanilia stole his Heart.

Those Features whence his Sketch he took
Shall soon, too soon! decay;
When Time shall rifle that soft Look,
And wear those Smiles away.

The blushing Tinct may longer glow,
But Nature's Strokes must wear;
The mimick Face can then but show
That Fanny once was fair,

Her Trophy, then, must nobler be,
Whilst Life, nay Thought remains;
His captive Soul shall ne'er get free,
Nor Death shall break his Chains.

In blissful Worlds where Angels sing,
Inflam'd with Love Divine,
When joyful Seraphs clap the Wing,
He'll mix his Voice with thine.

Forgive him, then, relentless Maid!
If more your Pride denies;
And let him clasp the painted Shade,
Who for the Substance dies.