New joys, if she's a wit, I hope to find;And with her body, to possess her mind:If foolish, I in that can see no harm,And in her very folly find a charm.I know a maid so very fond, and dull,To me she thinks Callimachus a fool.I soon am pleas'd with one that's pleas'd with me,Alike we in our taste and wish agree:But if the fair my verses don't approve,I bragging tell her, she will like my love;If with her tongue, or with her heel she's brisk,Her prattle pleases, and her gamesome frisk;But if she's heavy, I suppose at nightShe'll change, and prove, as I would have her, light,The fair that sings, enchants me with her voice;Oh, what a gust it gives a lover's joys!When her shrill shakes afresh his bosom wound,And from her lips he kisses off the sound;When her soft fingers touch the silver strings,And sweetly to the sounding lute she sings;