The beauties of Myra in it[s] lustre now dawning
As the spring is first seen to disclose
When the dew dropping silver of mays infant morning
Unfoldeth the blush of the Rose
While her charms O as varied as summers profusion
& Ripe as the autumn for love
In her blue Eyes sweet beaming the thrilling confusion
Near failing each bosom to move
While the snows of the Winter improvd on her bosom
No need of a Rival be told
—& O my sad pains—when I went to disclosem
I found it as killing & cold

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