Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MADAM GABRINA OR THE ILL FAVOR'D CHOICE, by HENRY KING (1592-1669)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MADAM GABRINA OR THE ILL FAVOR'D CHOICE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I have oft wond'red why thou didst elect
Last Line: Can mend that night-piece, that is, make her worse.


I HAVE oft wond'red why thou didst elect
Thy mistress of a stuff none could affect,
That wore his eyes in the right place. A thing
Made up, when Nature's powers lay slumbering.
One, where all pregnant imperfections met
To make her sex's scandal: Teeth of jet,
Hair dy'd in orp'ment, from whose fretful hue
Canidia her highest witchcrafts drew.
A lip most thin and pale, but such a mouth
Which like the poles is stretched North and South
A face so colour'd, and of such a form,
As might defiance bid unto a storm:
And the complexion of her sallow hide
Like a wrack'd body wash'd up by the tide:
Eyes small: a nose so to her vizard glued
As if 'twould take a Planet's altitude.
Last for her breath, 'tis somewhat like the smell
That does in Ember weeks on Fish-street dwell;
Or as a man should fasting scent the Rose
Which in the savoury Bear-garden grows.
If a Fox cures the paralytical,
Hadst thou ten palsies, she'd outstink them all.

But I have found thy plot: sure thou didst try
To put thyself past hope of jealousy:
And whilst unlearned fools the senses please,
Thou cur'st thy appetite by a disease;
As many use, to kill an itch withal,
Quicksilver or some biting mineral.

Dote upon handsome things each common man
With little study and less labour can;
But to make love to a deformity,
Only commends thy great ability,
Who from hard-favour'd objects draw'st content,
As estriches from iron nutriment.

Well, take her, and like mounted George, in bed
Boldly achieve thy Dragon's maiden-head:
Where (though scarce sleep) thou mayst rest confident
None dares beguile thee of thy punishment:
The sin were not more foul that he should commit,
Than is that She with whom he acted it.

Yet take this comfort: when old age shall raze,
Or sickness ruin many a good face,
Thy choice cannot impair; no cunning curse
Can mend that night-piece, that is, make her worse.





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