To Caelia's Ague

Hence, fond Disease, I say forbear,
And strive t'afflict my Fair no more,
In vain are thy attempts on her,
She was, alas! so cold before.

Yet thou at once, by Sympathy,
Disturb'st two Persons in one Ill;
For when she freezes, then I fry,
And so compleat her Ague still.

Sure thou my choice would'st fain disgrace,
By making her look Pale, and Green,
Had she no Beauties, but her face,
I never had a Lover been.

For sparkling Eyes, and rosie Cheeks
Must, as her Youth does fade, decay:
But Virtue, which her Bosom decks,
Will, when they're sunk, and wither'd, stay.

Thou would'st eclipse that Virtue too,
For such a Triumph far too dear,
Making her tremble, as they do,
Whom jealous guilt has taught to fear.

I wish thy Malice might so thrive
To my advantage, as to shake
Her Flinty Breast, that I might live,
And on that part a battery make.

But since Assaults without some fire
Are seldom to perfection brought,
I may like thee baffled retire,
Thou hast her burning fit forgot.

Since thy attempts then never can
Atchieve the power to destroy
This wonder, and delight of Man,
Hence to some grosser Body fly.

Yet, as returning stomacks do
Still covet some one Dish they see:
So when thou from my Fair do'st go,
Kind Ague, make her long for me.