Charles Sackville

Sylvia, Methinks You Are Unfit

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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.

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Charles Sackville