To Mistress Sophia Simple, Queen of the Cinema

Before our sight your mobile face Depicts your joys or woes distracting; We marvel at your winsome grace— And wish you’d learn the art of acting!

Your eyes, we vow, surpass the stars; Your mouth is like the bow of Cupid; Your rose-ting’d cheeks no wrinkle mars— Yet why are you so sweetly stupid?

The hore views you with delight, To win your hand forever working; We pity him—the witless wight— To fall a victim to your smirking!

And yet, why should we wail in rhyme Because so crudely you dissemble? We can’t expect for one small dime, To see a Woffington or Kemble!