Envious and foul disease, could there not be One beauty in an age, and free from thee? What did she worth thy spite? Were there not store Of those that set by their false faces more Than this did by her true? She never sought Quarrel with Nature, or in balance brought Art, her false servant; nor, for Sir Hugh Plat, Was drawn to practise other hue, than that Her own blood gave her: she ne'er had, nor hath Any belief, in Madam Baud-bee's bath, Or Turner's oil of Talc. Nor ever got Spanish receipt, to make her teeth to rot. What was the cause then? Thought'st thou in disgrace Of beauty, so to nullify a face, That heaven should make no more; or should amiss Make all hereafter, had'st thou ruined this? Ay, that thy aim was; but her fate prevailed: And scorned, thou hast shown thy malice, but hast failed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE FUNERAL HYMN by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY; A PATHETIC BALLAD by THOMAS HOOD A DIALOGUE (TO BE SUNG TO THE VIOL, BY A BASE, AND A TREBLE) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |