Hyperion _to a Satyr: So Loving to my Mother,
That he would not let e'en the Winds of
Heav'n
Visit her Face too roughly. Heav'n and Earth!
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on
him,
As if Increase of Appetite had grown
By what it fed on; yet within a Month!
Let me not think. Frailty! Thy Name is
Woman.
A little Month; e'er yet those Shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor Father's
Body,
Like_ Niobe, _all Tears; Why she, even she,
(Oh Heav'n, a Beast that wants Discourse
of Reason,
Would have mourn'd longer) married with
mine Uncle,
My Father's Brother; but no more like my
Father,
Than I to_ Hercules. _Within a Month,
E'er yet the Salt of most unrighteous Tears
Had left the flushing in her gaul'd Eyes,
She married. Oh! most wicked Speed, to
post
With such Dexterity to incestuous Sheets!_

_It is not, nor it cannot come to Good.
But, break my Heart, for I must hold my
Tongue._