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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431464" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Saturday, the Small-Pox</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FLAVIA.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd,<br>Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind ;<br>A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,<br>For now she shun'd the face she sought before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'How am I chang'd ! alas ! how am I grown<br>'A frightful spectre, to myself unknown !<br>'Where's my Complexion ? where the radiant Bloom,<br>'That promis'd happiness for Years to come ?<br>'Then with what pleasure I this face survey'd !<br>'To look once more, my visits oft delay'd !<br>'Charm'd with the view, a fresher red would rise,<br>'And a new life shot sparkling from my eyes !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ah ! faithless glass, my wonted bloom restore;<br>'Alas ! I rave, that bloom is now no more !<br>'The greatest good the GODS on men bestow,<br>'Ev'n youth itself, to me is useless now.<br>'There was a time, (oh ! that I could forget !)<br>'When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet ;<br>'And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine,<br>'The earliest cherries of the spring were mine.<br>'Witness, O Lilly ; and thou, Motteux, tell<br>'How much Japan these eyes have made ye sell.<br>'With what contempt ye you saw me oft despise<br>'The humble offer of the raffled prize ;<br>'For at the raffle still the prize I bore,<br>'With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore !<br>' Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'For me the Patriot has the house forsook,<br>'And left debates to catch a passing look :<br>'For me the Soldier has soft verses writ ;<br>'For me the Beau has aim'd to be a Wit.<br>'For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd ;<br>'The Gamester has for me his dun delay'd,<br>'And overseen the card, I would have play'd.<br>'The bold and haughty by success made vain,<br>'Aw'd by my eyes has trembled to complain:<br>'The bashful 'squire touch'd by a wish unknown,<br>'Has dar'd to speak with spirit not his own ;<br>'Fir'd by one wish, all did alike adore ;<br>'Now beauty's fled, and lovers are no more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'As round the room I turn my weeping eyes,<br>'New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise !<br>'Far from my sight that killing picture bear,<br>'The face disfigure, and the canvas tear !<br>'That picture which with pride I us'd to show,<br>'The lost resemblance but upbraids me now.<br>'And thou, my toilette! where I oft have sat,<br>'While hours unheeded pass'd in deep debate,<br>'How curls should fall, or where a patch to place :<br>'If blue or scarlet best became my face;<br>'Now on some happier nymph thy aid bestow ;<br>'On fairer heads, ye useless jewels glow !<br>'No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore ;<br>'Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine ;<br>'Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine ;<br>'But midst your triumphs with confusion know,<br>''Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe.<br>'Would pitying Heav'n restore my wonted mien,<br>'Ye still might move unthought-of and unseen.<br>'But oh ! how vain, how wretched is the boast<br>'Of beauty faded, and of empire lost !<br>'What now is left but weeping, to deplore<br>'My beauty fled, and empire now no more !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ye, cruel Chymists, what with-held your aid !<br>'Could no pomatums save a trembling maid ?<br>'How false and trifling is that art you boast ;<br>'No art can give me back my beauty lost.<br>'In tears, surrounded by my friends I lay,<br>'Mask'd o'er and trembled at the sight of day;<br>'MIRMILLO came my fortune to deplore,<br>'(A golden headed cane, well carv'd he bore)<br>'Cordials, he cried, my spirits must restore :<br>'Beauty is fled, and spirit is no more !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'GALEN, the grave ; officious SQUIRT was there,<br>'With fruitless grief and unavailing care :<br>'MACHAON too, the great MACHAON, known<br>'By his red cloak and his superior frown ;<br>'And why, he cry'd, this grief and this despair ?<br>'You shall again be well, again be fair ;<br>'Believe my oath; (with that an oath he swore)<br>'False was his oath; my beauty is no more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Cease, hapless maid, no more thy tale pursue,<br>'Forsake mankind, and bid the world adieu !<br>'Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway ;<br>'All strive to serve, and glory to obey :<br>'Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow ;<br>'Men mock the idol of their former vow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Adieu ! ye parks ! -- in some obscure recess,<br>'Where gentle streams will weep at my distress,<br>'Where no false friend will in my grief take part,<br>'And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart ;<br>'There let me live in some deserted place,<br>'There hide in shades this lost inglorious face.<br>'Ye, operas, circles, I no more must view !<br>'My toilette, patches, all the world adieu!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lady+Mary+Wortley+Montagu">Lady Mary Wortley Montagu</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431464" data-title="Saturday, the Small-Pox de Lady Mary Wortley Montagu" data-description="FLAVIA.

The wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd,
Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind ;
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now she shun'd the face she sought before.

'How am I chang'd ! alas ! how am I grown
'A frightful s..."></div>
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