Envious and foul disease, could there not be One beauty in an age, and free from thee? What did she worth thy spite? Were there not store Of those that set by their false faces more Than this did by her true? She never sought Quarrel with Nature, or in balance brought Art, her false servant; nor, for Sir Hugh Plat, Was drawn to practise other hue, than that Her own blood gave her: she ne'er had, nor hath Any belief, in Madam Baud-bee's bath, Or Turner's oil of Talc. Nor ever got Spanish receipt, to make her teeth to rot. What was the cause then? Thought'st thou in disgrace Of beauty, so to nullify a face, That heaven should make no more; or should amiss Make all hereafter, had'st thou ruined this? Ay, that thy aim was; but her fate prevailed: And scorned, thou hast shown thy malice, but hast failed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INTERRACIAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANSWER TO PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON OCTAVES: 20 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE BIGLOW PAPERS. 2D SERIES: 2. JONATHAN TO JOHN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MY MOTHER by WILLIAM BELL SCOTT THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM by ROBERT SOUTHEY |