On my Lady Hyde, having
the Small-Pox.
SCARCE cou'd the general Joy for Mohun appear,
But new attempts show other Dangers near:
Beauty's attack'd in her imperial Fort,
Where all her Loves and Graces kept their Court,
In her chief Residence besieg'd at last,
Laments to see her fairest Fields laid waste.
On things immortal all Attempts are vain,
Tyrant Disease, 'tis loss of Time and Pain;
Glut thy wild Rage, and load thee with rich Prize,
Torn from her Cheeks, her fragrant Lips and Eyes,
As much Vermillion, as much Lustre take,
As might a Hellen or a Venus make;
Like Thetis, she shall frustrate thy vain Rape,
And in variety of Charms escape.
The twinkling Stars drop numberless each Night,
Yet shines the radiant Firmament as bright;
So from the Ocean should we Rivers drain,
Still wou'd enough to drown the World remain.
