Art thou alive? It cannot be, <br />There's so much Rottenness in Thee, <br />Corruption only is in Death; <br />And what's more Putrid than thy Breath? <br />Think not you Live, because you Speak, <br />For Graves such hollow Sounds can make; <br />And Respiration can't suffice, <br />For Vapours do from Caverns rise: <br />From Thee such noisom Stenches come, <br />Thy Mouth betrays thy Breast a Tomb. <br />Thy Body is a Corpse that goes, <br />By Magick rais'd from its Repose: <br />A Pestilence that walks by Day, <br />But falls at Night to Worms and Clay. <br />But I will to my Chloris run, <br />Who will not let me be undone: <br />The Sweets her Virgin-Breath contains, <br />Are fitted to remove my Pains; <br />There will I healing Nectar sip, <br />And to be sav'd, approach her Lip, <br />Tho' if I touch the matchless Dame, <br />I'm sure to burn with inward Flame. <br />Thus when I wou'd one Danger shun, <br />I'm strait upon another thrown: <br />I seek a Cure one Sore to ease, <br />Yet in that Cure's a New Disease. <br />But Love, tho' fatal, still can bless, <br />And greater Dangers hide the less; <br />I'll go where Passion bids me fly, <br />And chuse my Death, since I must Dye; <br />As Doves pursu'd by Birds of Prey, <br />Venture with milder Man to stay.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-lady-with-a-foul-breath/
