1960Who in pleuretic passions does deny
To open veins, to shut death out o' th' doors?
Who will not in sharp fevers Galen try,
To weaken humours, and unstop the pores?
The quickest eye does want the quick'ning sun,
And to the sea the drilling cadents run.
Who, when Sir Cupid enters at the eye,
With pride and coy disdain shuts comfort forth?
I'll make ambition stoop now, love, says I,
And satin thoughts shall veil to tammy worth: