56
Poems on
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A
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
A Lady and her Looking-Glass,
while she had the Green-Sickness.
The gay Ophelia view'd her Face
In the clear Crystal of her Glass;
The Lightning from her Eye was fled,
Her Cheek was pale, the Roses dead.
In the clear Crystal of her Glass;
The Lightning from her Eye was fled,
Her Cheek was pale, the Roses dead.
Then thus Ophelia, with a Frown:
Art thou, false Thing, perfidious grown?
Art thou, false Thing, perfidious grown?
I
