Your handsome clothes will be spoiled I fear! 
          A carpet let me instantly provide? 
          Deuce take the clothes! the fair with anger cried;
          Ne’er think of that:  I’ll say I had a fall;
          Such accident a loss I would not call,
          When Time so clearly on the wing appears,
          ’Tis right to banish scruples, cares, and fears;
          Nor think of clothes nor dress, however fine,
          But those to dirt or flames at once resign;
          Far better this than precious time to waste,
          Since frequently in minutes bliss we taste;
          A quarter of an hour we now should prize,
          The place no doubt will very well suffice;
          With you it rests such moments to employ,
          And mutually our bosoms fill with joy. 
          I scarcely ought to say what now I speak,
          But anxiously your happiness I seek.

          Indeed, the anxious, tender youth replied,
          To save such costly clothes we should decide;
          I’ll run at once, and presently be here;
          Two minutes will suffice I’m very clear. 
          Away the silly lad with ardour flew,
          And left no time objections to renew. 
          His wondrous folly cured the charming dame;
          Whose soul so much disdained her recent flame;
          That instantly her heart resumed its place,
          Which had too long been loaded with disgrace: 
          Go, prince of fools, she to herself exclaimed,
          For ever, of thy conduct, be ashamed;
          To lose thee surely I can ne’er regret,
          Impossible a worse I could have met. 
          I’ve now considered, and ’tis very plain,
          Thou merit’st not such favours to obtain;
          From hence I swear, by ev’ry thing above;
          My husband shall alone possess my love;
          And least I might be tempted to betray,
          To him I’ll instantly the boon convey,
          Which Nicaise might have easily received;
          Thank Heav’n my breast from folly is relieved. 
          This said, by disappointment rendered sour,
          The beauteous bride in anger left the bow’r. 
          Soon with the carpet simple Nicaise came,
          And found that things no longer were the same.

          Thelucky hour, ye suitors learn I pray,
          Is not each time the clock strikes through the day,
          In Cupid’s alphabet I think I’ve read,
          Old Time, by lovers, likes not to be led;
          And since so closely he pursues his plan,
          ’Tis right to seize him, often as you can. 
          Delays are dangerous, in love or war,
          And Nicaise is a proof they fortune mar.