Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/53

Rh Though dead, it yet retains some untouched grace, Wherein we may thy soul's fair footsteps trace, Which no disease can frighten from its wonted place: Even its deformities do thee become, And only serve to consecrate thy doom. Those marks of death which did its surface stain, Now hallow, not profane. Each spot does to a ruby turn; What soiled but now, would now adorn. Those asterisks, placed in the margin of thy skin, Point out the nobler soul that dwelt within: Thy lesser, like the greater, world appears All over bright, all over stuck with stars. So Indian luxury, when it would be trim, Hangs pearls on every limb. Thus, amongst ancient Picts, nobility In blemishes did lie; Each by his spots more honourable grew, And from their store a greater value drew: Their kings were known by the royal stains they bore, And in their skins their ermine wore. Thy blood where death triumphed in greatest state, Whose purple seemed the badge of tyrant fate,