Advice to a Lady, Who Talked of Turning Nun

What pious whims, my fair, are these? Why to a nunnery would you go? Hear me, nor let the truth displease, You know not what you mean to do.

You mean, those beauties all to hide That Nature in her bounty gave, To make you of her works the pride, And fix the world your willing slave.

You mean, in cloister'd gloom, to shade Those eyes, that now the sun outshine, But diamonds, sure, were never made To shroud their lustre in the mine.

You mean, by abstinence, to lose Those blushes in your cheeks that rise; But take this lesson from the rose, Once from the garden torn, it dies.

You mean, with penance harsh, to prove, At the chill hour of midnight prayer, Those graceful limbs, that, as you move, Betray too plain the Goddess there.

Perfection center'd thus in one, The gift, as Nature meant, receive, You, like the Phoenix, shine alone, But, like her too, a Phoenix leave.