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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431481" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Town Eclogues: Saturday; The Small-Pox</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FLAVIA.<br> 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=431481" data-title="Town Eclogues: 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 frig..."></div>
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