MlGIfOIfETTE. 



What though no charms thou hast to sheyr, 

 Plainest amongst the flowers that grow ! 



An odour passing all is thine, 



Ne'er cloying, like to sweets divine. 



As some dear maiden, past all praise, 

 Atti'acting not th' admirer's gaze ; 



But cloth' d with beauty, not of earth, — 

 The graces of a Heavenly birth. 



