On a Family Picture1
WHEN pensive on that Portraiture I gaze,
Where my four Brothers round about me stand,
And four fair Sisters smile with graces bland,
The goodly monument of happier days;
And think how soon insatiate Death, who preys 5 On all, has cropp'd the rest with ruthless hand;
While only I survive of all that band,
Which one chaste bed did to my Father raise;
It seems that like a Column left alone,
The tottering remnant of some splendid Fane, 10 Scape'd from the fury of the barbarous Gaul,
And wasting Time, which has the rest o'erthrown;
Amidst our House's ruins I remain
Single, unpropp'd, and nodding to my fall.
WHY, Cælia, is your spreading waist
So loose, so negligently lac'd?
Why must the wrapping bed-gown hide
Your snowy bosom's swelling pride?
How ill that dress adorns your head, 5 Distain'd, and rumpled from the bed!