Classic Poem

I.

No more, no more, Jacynta , say,
That Cloe 's former Face;
Each Heavenly Beauty did display,
And every pleasing Grace.

II.

The Half of what remains to her,
Or, All , you say, is lost;
Thee, O Jacynta , would prefer
To be a First-rate Toast.

III.

Then thy ill-natur'd Pity spare,
Nor Cloe 's Fate regret;
For Cloe is divinely Fair,
And must be Envied yet.

IV.

Were she an Angel heretofore,
As you'd be understood;
Yet, I'm contented, I'll be swore,
With this same Flesh and Blood.