Classic Poem

I.

Tho' fair Eliza , to conceal
The charming Beauties of her Eyes
Turns to her Spinet , yet we feel,
The fair Eliza can surprise.

II.

She can her Laws on us impose,
And triumph, when she does retreat ;
As Parthians seem to fly their Foes ,
The surer Conquest to compleat.

III.

If in her blooming Looks , sh' appears,
She, thro' the Eyes attacks the Heart ,
But, when she Plays , she wounds the Ears ,
And ev'ry Finger turns a Dart .

IV.

The lift'ning Captives 'round her stand,
And, whilst each tuneful Touch th' admire,
They own the Conquest of her Hand,
And yield themselves to Chains of Wyre .

V.

But, if some hardy Rebel 's Choice
Bids a Defiance to the Strings ;
Let but Eliza raise her Voice ;
She gives no Quarter when she sings .