Irish Beauty

An Irish beauty's not a thing so rare, But Irish virtue often makes us stare; The charms of face are little to the mind, 'Tis from the sentiments the soul we find; The noblest actions are the best display'd When foil'd by fortune and when undismay'd; But he who bends at fortune's worldly shrine, Scarce ranks superior to the grovling s-w-i-n-e: The man who sells his happiness for gold, Should like a Smithfield horse himself be sold; A worthy action adds to charms of face, But sordid marriage marks it with disgrace.