Sicknesse, in vain thou dost invade
A Beauty that can never fade.
Could all thy Malice but impair
One of the sweets which crown this fair,
Or steal the spirits from her Eye,
Or kisse into a paler dye
The blushing Roses of her Cheek,
Our drooping hopes might justly seek
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save
Thousands of Lovers from the Grave:
But such assaults are vain, for she
Is too divine to stoop to thee;
Blest with a Form as much too high
For any Change, as Destiny;
Which no attempt can violate;
For what's her Beauty, is our Fate.