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Beauty, Wit and Gold.

In her bow'r a widow dwelt,
At her feet three lovers knelt;
Each adored the widow much,
Each essay'd her heart to touch,
One had wit, and one had gold —
One was cast in beauty's mould;
Guess, which was it won the prize,
Tongue, or purse or handsome eyes?


First began the handsome man,
Peeping proudly o'er her fan,
Red his lips, and white his skin,
Could such beauty fail to win?
Then stepped forth the man of gold,
Cash he counted, coin he told?
Wealth the burden of the tale,
Could such golden projects fail?
Then the man of wit and sense,
Woo'd her with his eloquence,
Now she heard him with a sigh,
Then she blush'd scarce knowing why;
Then she smiled to hear him speak,
Then a tear was on her cheek;
Beauty vanish — gold depart —
Wit has won the widow's heart!