For little Ailments oft attend the Fair,
Not decent for a Husband's, or Ear.
Something the Dame would say: The ready Knight
Prevents her Speech—Here's that shall set you right,
Madam, said he—With that the Door's made close,
He gives, deliciously, the healing Dose.
Alas! she cries, Ah me! Ah cruel Cure!
Did ever Woman yet like me endure!
The Work perform'd: Uprising gay and light,
Old Cornus is call'd in, to see the Sight.
A sprightly Red vermillions all her Face,
And her Eyes languish with unusual Grace.
With Tears of Joy, fresh gushing from his Eyes,
O wond'rous Pow'r of Art! old Cornus cries,
Amazing Change! Astonishing Success!
Thrice happy I! What a brave Man was this!
Maids, Wives, and Widows, with like Whims possest,
May thus find certain Ease—Probatum est.
To CELIA.
WHY, cruel Creature, why so bent
To vex a tender Heart?
To Gold and Title you relent,
Love throws in vain his Dart.
