DORINDA, once the fairest of the Train,

Toast of the Town, and Triumph of the Plain;

Whose shining Eyes a thousand Hearts alarm'd,

Whose Wit Inspired, and whose Follies charm'd:

Who, with Invention, rack'd her careful Breast

To find new Graces to insult the rest,

Now sees her Temples take a swarthy Hue,

And the dark Veins resign their beauteous Blue;

While on her Cheeks the fading Roses die,

And the last Sparkles tremble in her Eye.

Bright Sol had drove the sable Clouds away,

And chear'd the Heavens with a Stream of Day,

The woodland Choir their little Throats prepare,

To chant new Carols to the Morning Air: