I. Sylvia, methinks you are unfit

 Sylvia, methinks you are unfit 
 For your great Lord's embrace; 
 For tho' we all allow you wit, 
 We can't a handsome face. 
 Then where's the pleasure, where's the good 
 Of spending time and cost? 
 For if your wit ben't understood, 
 Your keeper's bliss is lost

 
 
 II. Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes 

 Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes, 
 United, cast too fierce a light, 
 Which blazes high but quickly dies, 
 Warms not the heart but hurts the sight. 

 Love is a calm and tender joy, 
 Kind are his looks and soft his pace; 
 Her Cupid is a blackguard boy 
 That runs his link into your face.

 
 
III. Proud with the spoils of royal cully

 Proud with the spoils of royal cully, 
 With false pretence to wit and parts, 
 She swaggers like a batter'd bully 
 To try the tempers of men's hearts. 

 Tho' she appears as gay and fine 
 As jet and gems and paint can make her, 
 She ne'er shall win a heart like mine -- 
 The devil or Sir Davy take her. 

 Her bed is like the Scripture feast, 
 Where none who were invited came,
 
 So disappointed of her guest, 
 She took up with the blind and lame. 

 
IV. Tell me, Dorinda, why so gay 

 Tell me, Dorinda, why so gay, 
 Why such embroid'ry, fringe, and lace? 
 Can any dresses find a way 
 To stop th'approaches of decay 
 And mend thy ruin'd face? 

 Wilt thou still sparkle in the box, 
 And ogle in the ring? 
 Canst thou forget thy age and pox? 
 Can all that shines on shells and rocks 
 Make thee a fine young thing?
 
 So have I seen in larder dark 
 Of veal a lucid loin, 
 Replete with many a heatless spark, 
 As wise philosophers remark, 
 At once both stink and shine.