The Incurable: An Epigram

PHILLIS you boast of perfect health in vain,
And laugh at those who of their ills complain :
That with a frequent fever Cloe burns.
And Stella's plumpness into dropsy turns.

O ! Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas ! are their distempers seen.

But Thou for all Thy seeming health art ill.
Beyond thy lover's hopes, or Blackmore's skill ;
No lenitives can thy disease asswage,
I tell Thee, 'Tis incurable — 'tis Age.