Classic Poem

Must she then languish, and we sorrow thus,
And no kind god help her, nor pity us?
Is justice fled from heaven? Can that permit
A foul deformed ravisher to sit
Upon her virgin cheek, and pull from thence
The rose-buds in their maiden excellence?
To spread cold paleness on her lips, and chase
The frighted rubies from their native place?
To lick up with his searching flames a flood
Of dissolved coral, flowing in her blood;
And with the damps of his infectious breath
Print on her brow moist characters of death?
Must the clear light, 'gainst course of nature, cease
In her fair eyes, and yet the flames increase?
Must fevers shake this goodly tree, and all
That ripen'd fruit from the fair branches fall,
Which princes have desired to taste? Must she,
Who hath preserved her spotless chastity
From all solicitation, now at last
By agues and diseases be embraced?
Forbit it, holy Dian! else who shall
Pay vows, or let one grain of incense fall
On thy neglected altars, if thou bless
No better this thy zealous votaress?
Haste then, O maiden goddess, to her aid;
Let on thy quiver her pale cheek be laid,
And rock her fainting body in thine arms;
Then let the god of music with still charms
Her restless eyes in peaceful slumbers close,
And with soft strains sweeten her calm repose.
Cupid, descend! and whilst Apollo sings,
Fanning the cool air with thy panting wings
Ever supply her with refreshing wind;
Let thy fair mother with her tresses bind
Her labouring temples, with whose balmy sweat
She shall perfume her hairy coronet,
Whose precious drops shall upon every fold
Hang like rich pearls about a wreath of gold;
Her looser locks, as they unbraided lie,
Shall spread themselves into a canopy,
Under whose shadow let her rest secure
From chilling cold or burning calenture:
Unless she freeze with ice of chaste desires,
Or holy Hymen kindle nuptial fires:
And when at last Death comes to pierce her heart,
Convey into his hand thy golden dart.