Beauty rests not in one fix'd Place,
But seems to reign in every Face;
'Tis nothing sure, but Fancy then,
In various Forms bewitching Men;
Or is it Shape and Colour fram'd,
Proportion just, and woman nam'd?
If Fancy only rul'd in Love,
Why shou'd it then so strongly move?
Or why shou'd all that Look, agree
To own its mighty Pow'r in three?
In Three it shews a different Face,
Each shining with peculiar Grace;
Kindred a Native Likeness gives,
Which pleases, as in All it lives;
And where the Features disagree,
We praise the dear Variety.
Then Beauty surely ne'er was yet,
So much unlike it self and so complete.