Written in Clarinda's Pray'r-Book.
IN vain, Clarinda, Night and Day
For Mercy to the Gods you pray:
What Arrogance on Heav'n to call
For that, which you deny to All!
FULVIA.
WHY pines my Dear? To Fulvia, his young bride,
Who pensive sat, thus aged Cornus cry'd.
Alas! said she, such Visions break my Rest,
The strangest Thoughts! I think I am possest:
My Symptoms I have told a Man of Skill,
And—if I wou'd—he says—I might—be well.
Take his Advice, said he, my poor dear Wife,
I'll buy at any rate thy precious Life.
Blushing she wou'd excuse, but all in vain,
A Doctor must be fetch'd to ease her Pain.
Hard prest, she yields: From White's, or Will's, or Tom's,
No matter which he's summon'd, and he comes.
The careful Husband, with a kind Embrace
Entreats his Care; then bows, and quits the Place,
