Classic Poem

Why (foul Disease) in cheek or eye
Durst not thy small Impressions lye?
Or why aspir'd'st thou to that place,
The graceful Promont of her face?
Alas! we see the Rose and Snow
In one thou couldst not overthrow:
And where the other did but please
To look and shine, they kill'd disease.
Then as some sulphurous spirit sent
By the torne Airs distemperment,
To a rich Palace; finds within
Some Sainted maid or Sheba Queen;
And, not of power for her offence,
Rifles the Chimney going hence.
So thou too feeble to controul
The Guest within, her purer soul,
Hast out of spleen to things of grace,
Left thy sunk footsteps in the place.
Yet fear not Maid, since so much fair
Is left, that these can those impair.
Face-scars do not disgrace, but shew
Valour well freed from a bold foe.
Like Jacobs lamenesse, this shall be
Honour and Palme to Time and Thee.