Strephon, whose Person ev'ry Grace <br /> Was careful to adorn; <br />Thought, by the Beauties of his Face, <br />In Silvia's Love to find a place, <br /> And wonder'd at her Scorn. <br />With Bows, and Smiles he did his Part; <br /> But Oh! 'twas all in vain: <br />A Youth less Fine, a Youth of Art <br />Had talk'd himself into her Heart, <br /> And wou'd not out again. <br /> <br />Strephon with change of Habits press'd, <br /> And urg'd her to admire; <br />His Love alone the Other dress'd, <br />As Verse, or Prose became it best, <br /> And mov'd her soft Desire. <br /> <br />This found, his courtship Strephon ends, <br /> Or makes it to his Glass; <br />There, in himself now seeks amends, <br />Convinc'd, that where a Wit pretends, <br /> A Beau is but an Ass.<br /><br />Anne Kingsmill Finch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wit-and-the-beau/
