Mysterious Benedetta! who br That Reynolds or that Romney drew br Was ever half so fair as you, br Or is so well forgot? br These eyes of melancholy brown, br These woven locks, a shadowy crown, br Must surely have bewitched the town; br Yet you're remembered not. br br Through all that prattle of your age, br Through lore of fribble and of sage br I've read, and chiefly Walpole's page, br Wherein are beauties famous; br I've haunted ball, and rout, and sale; br I've heard of Devonshire and Thrale, br And all the Gunnings' wondrous tale, br But nothing of Miss Ramus. br br And yet on many a lattice pane br 'Fair Benedetta,' scrawled in vain br By lovers' diamonds, must remain br To tell us you were cruel. br But who, of all that sighed and swore - br Wits, poets, courtiers by the score - br Did win and on his bosom wore br This hard and lovely jewel? br br Why, dilettante records say br An Alderman, who came that way, br Woo'd you and made you Lady Day; br You crowned his civic flame. br It suits a melancholy song br To think your heart had suffered wrong, br And that you lived not very long br To be a City dame! br br Perchance you were a Mourning Bride, br And conscious of a heart that died br With one who fell by Rodney's side br In blood-stained Spanish bays.