Can yield relief,
Or shrink the current of another's grief,
Who hope that breath which they in sighs convey
Should blow calamities away;
Thine did a manlier form express,
And scorned to whine at an unhappiness;
Thou thoughtst it still the noblest pity to redress.
So friendly angels their relief bestow
On the unfortunate below,
For whom those purer minds no passion know:
Such nature in that generous plant is found,
Whose every breach does with a salve abound.
And wounds itself to cure another's wound.
In pity to mankind it sheds its juice,
Glad with expense of blood to serve their use:
First, with kind tears our maladies bewails,
And after heals;
And makes those very tears the remedy produce.
15
(If there were any durst that title wear,)
They could not offer wrongs so fast.
But what were pardoned with like haste;
And by thy acts of amnesty defaced.
Had he who wished the art how to forget,
Discovered its new worth in thee,
He had a double value on it set.
And justly scorned the ignobler art of memory.
No wrongs could thy great soul to grief expose,
'Twas placed as much out of the reach of those.
As of material blows.
No injuries could thee provoke.
Thy softness always damped the stroke:
As flints on feather-beds are easiest broke.
Affronts could ne'er thy cool complexion heat,
Or chase thy temper from its settled state:
But still thou stoodst unshocked by all,
