Rhapsody on Miss Mary

O! EARLY plant of tender years! Beauty that blooms at once, and bears Discretion mixt with sprightly wit, And innocence, with taste polite, A cheerful yet discerning mind, And dignity with softness join'd; When these assembled charms are seen All in the compass of sixteen, Maturer age, abash'd, declares, Wisdom is not the growth of years: No! 'tis a ray that darts from Heaven, Perfection is not taught, but given: Polly, consummate from her birth, In artless charms, and native worth, Has all the virtues years enjoy, With all the graces that destroy.