Epigram on a Lady

Ye graceless wits, who neither praise The Ladies nor the Lord; Behold a nymph who well may stand An angel on record.

No railing rake, nor flatt'ring fop, Attends her chaste levee, No scandal twice or thrice refin'd, Adds sweetness to her tea.

She ne'er upon her sex's faults, A fruitful theme did preach; Nor wound the lovely excellence That she could never reach.

Her tongue might more reform the age, Than lectures once a week; And so it would—but ah! the day!— Poor Celia cannot speak.