To a Gentleman who pays his addresses, to a very agreeable Lady, yet praises only her beauty

If a weak woman may pretend, Her sexes honor to defend, I must address myself to you, Who do not pay the tribute due! You tell Emelia she is fair, Admire her eyes, her lips, and hair, She merits praises more than these, She has a mind dispos'd to please. A soul superior to the arts, Too often us'd to conquer hearts; Why do you then your praise confine, To beauties she must soon resign; Your mind should kindred worth approve, Or where's the charm can fix your love? I know you think all women vain, That mental beauties we disdain: Yet e'en this fault to you we owe; If we are vain you make us so. But they who have the least pretence, To a refin'd superior sense, Will sure despise that short-liv'd praise, Which beauty has the power to raise.