Here ceas'd the greatly injur'd Bride,
And  with a Blush reply'd:
"Why, Madam, I must own that you,
"Have Merit, (give the De'l his due)
"And was the Pleasure of my Life,
"Before you wore the Name of Wife:
"But Ma'm, the Reason was, I find,
"That while a Lover I was blind:
"And now the Fault is not in me,
"'Tis only this — that I can see.
I thought you once a Goddess trim,
"The Graces dwelt on ev'ry Limb:
"But, Madam, if you e'er was such,
"Methinks you're alter'd very much:
"As first (I beg your Pardon tho')
"You hold your Head extremely low:
"And tho' your Shape is not awry,
"Your Shoulders stand prodigious high:
"Your curling Hair I durst have swore,
"Was blacker than the sable Moor:
"But now I find 'tis only brown,
"A Colour common through the Town:
"'Tis true you're mighty fair — But now
"I spy a Freckle on your Brow;
"Your Lips I own are red and thin,
"But there's a Pimple on your Chin:
"Besides your Eyes are gray. — Alack!
"'Till now I always thought 'em black.