Page:Poetical Works of the Right Hon. Geo. Granville.djvu/83

Rh “ pines my dear?” to Fulvia, his young bride, Who weeping 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 to men of ſkill, And is I would—they ſay—I might be well.”
 * “Take their advice,” ſaid he, “my poor dear wife!

I ’ll buy at any rate thy precious life.” Bluſhing ſhe would excuſe, but all in vain; A doctor muſt be fetch’d to ease her pain. Hard preſs’d, 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; For little ailments oft attend the fair Not decent for a husband’s eye 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! O 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 vermilions all her face, And her eyes languiſh with unusual grace.