On Hygiene
Of old when folk lay sick and sorely tried
The doctors gave them physic, and they died.
But here’s a happier age: for now we know
Both how to make men sick and keep them so.
VII
On Lady Poltagrue, a Public Peril
The Devil, having nothing else to do,
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.
VIII
The Mirror
The mirror held your fair, my Fair,
A fickle moment’s space.
You looked into mine eyes, and there
For ever fixed your face.
Keep rather to your looking-glass
Than my more faithful eyes:
It told the truth—Alas! my lass,
My constant memory lies.