2550Like to a surfeit ta'en of Hybla's combs,
When we are too indulgent to our tastes.
But left Felice out to cut or sew,
Or to embroider with the lanky crew.
Which made a sudden faintness loose each part,
And every joint was like an aspen leaf;
Her rosy twins retired to her heart,
Her looks were coloured like a sunburnt sheaf,
As the stiff bristles of an aged boar
Were her smooth locks, which o'er her cheeks she wore