E P I G R A M S .|
LXII. TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE.
Fine madam WOULD-BE, wherefore should you fear,
That love to make so well, a child to bear ?
The world reputes you barren : but I know
Your pothecary, and his drug, says no.
Is it the pain affrights ? that's soon forgot.
Or your complexion's loss ? you have a pot,
That can restore that. Will it hurt your feature ?
To make amends, you are thought a wholesome creature.
What should the cause be ? oh, you live at court ;
And there's both loss of time, and loss of sport,
In a great belly : Write then on thy womb,
Of the not born, yet buried, here's the tomb.
Jonson, Ben. The Works of Ben Jonson.
Boston: Phillips, Sampson, and Co., 1853. 789.
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