Africa, that brags her foison,
Breeds no such prodigious poison,
Henbane, nightshade, both together,
Hemlock, aconite—
Nay, rather,
Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.
’Twas but in a sort I blamed thee,
None e’er prosper’d who defamed thee:
Irony all and feign’d abuse,