LXXVI.
Yet oft her Fear her Pride made crouchen low:
She felt, or fancy'd in her fluttering Mood,
All the Diseases which the Spittles know,
And sought all Physick which the Shops bestow,
And still new Leaches and new Drugs would try,
Her Humour ever wavering to and fro;
For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry,
Then sudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not why.
LXXVII.
With aching Head, and squeamish Heart-Burnings;
Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate Mankind,
Yet lov'd in Secret all forbidden Things.
And here the Tertian shakes his chilling Wings;
And sleepless Gout here counts the crowing Cocks,
A Wolf now gnaws him, now a Serpent stings;
Whilst Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperence knocks
Down to the Ground at once, as Butcher felleth Ox.
Canto II.
