Classic Poem

Nor was thy goodness bounded with so small extent,
Or in such narrow Limits pent.
Let Female Frailty in fond Tears distill,
Who think that Moisture which they spill
Can yield Relief,
Or shrink the Current of anothers Grief,
Who hope that Breath which they in sighs convey,
Should blow Calamities away.
Thine did a manlier Form express,
And scorn'd to whine at an Unhappiness;
Thou thought'st it still the noblest Pity to redress.
So friendly Angels their Relief bestow
On the unfortunate below
For whom those purer minds no Passion know:
Such Nature in that generous Plant is found,
Whose every Breach does with a Salve abound,
And wounds it self to cure another's Wound.
In pity to Mankind it sheds its Juice,
Glad with expence of Blood to serve their Use:
First with kind Tears our Maladies bewails,
And after heals;
And makes those very Tears the remedy produce.