To Mrs. Wigmore, Upon seeing Her at the Mountebank's Stage
Could Smith 's Medicinary Power but heal,
With half that Ease, your fatal Glances kill:
How might we bless the Love-relieving Art!
How might it sooth this sad afflicted Heart!
But yet, for O! so pleasing is the Flame,
So like the charming Fair, from whom it came!
First, let each Pang distract my peaceful Rest,
But never, never! leave my Love-sick Breast;
Still, still, let Hope indulge the dear Desire,
And with the Lamp of Life alone expire;
So shall my Death, my faithful Passion prove,
And my Heart die a Martyr to my Love.
With half that Ease, your fatal Glances kill:
How might we bless the Love-relieving Art!
How might it sooth this sad afflicted Heart!
But yet, for O! so pleasing is the Flame,
So like the charming Fair, from whom it came!
First, let each Pang distract my peaceful Rest,
But never, never! leave my Love-sick Breast;
Still, still, let Hope indulge the dear Desire,
And with the Lamp of Life alone expire;
So shall my Death, my faithful Passion prove,
And my Heart die a Martyr to my Love.
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