The Charmer

You may say what you will, but Belinda's too tall, And Stella's all bone, and her shape is too small; Dear Chloe's my wish, tho' extensive her charms, Tho' the front of her slays is too wide for my arms

Tis certain Miss Fanny's a sweet little dear, And zephyrs bring odors when Lucy is near; But Chloe's all sweetness by nature design'd, We might call her a hogshead of double-refin'd.

When she dances then leaps my fond heart like a frog; When with rapture I press her, I'm lost in a fog; I beg for a kiss, while my vows I renew, And imbibe half a pint of ambrosial dew.

She frequently mention's young Strephon, the beau, But why should I reckon my rival a foe? E'en let him proceed it will ne'er give me pain; We both shall find more than our arms will contain.

I've oft overheard the ill-natur'd expression; That beauty so bulky must pall in possession; In his notion the critic is surely misled, Love's flame by her fat will be constantly fed.

Some nymphs have angelical sweetness and grace, But Chloe has rather a cherubim's face; She's always good humor'd, facetious and free, And only gives pain when she fits on my knee.

I start not, as timirous fribbles have done, At the substance of three or four females in one; First ballance her weight with the mint's costly coin, Then let the dear ponderous charmer be mine.