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She's like the lusty heroines of old,
And with a strong embrace her lover will enfold.
This lass, because she's little, I approve;
The least are lightest in the sports of love.
With every size my passion does agree,
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And tall and short are both alike to me.
I fancy, when undress'd I find the fair,
'Tis less her want of charms, than want of care.
If with her dishabille, I cry, " I'm pleas'd,"
How beauteous would she be if she were dress'd
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And when she does her best apparel wear,
I think her riches in her pride appear.
The fair, the olive, are to me the same,
Alike the swarthy, and the sandy dame.
When her black curls adown her shoulders flow,
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Such Leda's were, her skin as white as snow;
And when her golden locks her head adorn,
I straight compare her to the saffron morn.
My love with no complexion disagrees,
But all alike my ready passion please.
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