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O DO not praise my beauty more, / In such word-wild degree, / And say I am one all eyes adore; / For these things harass me!
But do for ever softly say: / "From now unto the end / Come weal, come wanzing, come what may, / Dear, I will be your friend."
I hate my beauty in the glass: / My beauty is not I: / I wear it: none cares whether, alas, / Its wearer live or die!
The inner I O care for, then, / Yea, me and what I am, / And shall be at the gray hour when / My cheek begins to clam.
_Note_. -"The Regent Street beauty, Miss Verrey, the Swiss confectioner's / daughter, whose personal attractions have been so mischievously / exaggerated, died of fever on Monday evening, brought on by the annoyance / she had been for some time subject to. "-London paper, October 1828.