FATE 's now grown merciful to men, Turning disease to bliss; For had not kind rheum vex'd me then, I might not Celia kiss. Physicians, you are now my scorn, For I have found a way To cure diseases, when forlorn By your dull art, which may Patch up a body for a time, But can restore to health No more than chemists can sublime True gold, the Indies' wealth. That angel sure, that us'd to move The pool men so admir'd, Hath to her lip, the seat of love, As to his heaven, retir'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 4. THE MORAL by KAREN SWENSON A TOWN WINDOW by JOHN DRINKWATER SONNET: 3 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE CIVIL WAR by CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY AS LOVELY AS THEY by EVA MARBELL BONDI |