Cowley, Abraham . The Third Part of the Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley
Being his Six Books of Plants
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HAPPY the Man whom from Ambition freed
A little Field and little Garden feed. [image]
The Field do's frugal Natures Wants supply,
The Garden furnishes for Luxury.
What further specious Clogs of Life remain,
He leaves for Fools to seek, and Knaves to gain.
This happy Life did th'Old Corycian choose; 142
A Life deserving Maro's noble Muse;
This Life did wise Abdolominus charm,
The mighty Monarch of a little Farm.
While howing weed that on his Walks encroach'd
Great Alexander's Messenger approach'd,
Receive, said He, the Ensigns of a Crown
A Scepter, Mitre, and Sidonian Gown:
To Empire call'd unwillingly he goes,
And longing looks back on his Cottage throws.
Thus Aglaus's Farm did frequent Visits find
From Gods, himself a stranger to Mankind. [Latin: 20]
Gyges the richest King of former times,
(Wicked and swelling with successful Crimes) 20
Is there, said he, a Man more blest than I?
Thus challeng'd he the Delphick Deity.
Yes, Aglaus, the plain-dealing God reply'd.
Aglaus? Who's he? the angry Monarch cry'd.
Say, is there any King so call'd? there's none.
No King was ever by that Title known.
Or any great Commander of that Name,
Or Heroe who with Gods do's kindred claim:
Or any who does such vast wealth enjoy
As all his Luxury can ne'r destroy.
Renown'd for Arms, for Wealth, or Birth, no Man
Was found call'd Aglaus: Who's this Aglaus then?
At last in the retir'd Arcadian Plains
(Silence and Shades surround Arcadian Swains)
Near Ptophis Town (where he but once had been)
At Plow this Man of Happiness was seen.
In this Retirement was that Aglaus found,
Envy'd by Kings and by a God Renown'd. [Latin: 40]
Almighty Pow'r, if lawful it may be,
Amongst fictitious Gods to mention Thee, 40
Before encroaching Age too far intrude,
Let this sweet Scene my Life's dull Farce conclude!
With this sweet close my useless toil be blest,
My long toss'd Barque in that calm station rest. [image]
Once more my Muse in wild Digression strays,
Ne'r satisfi'd with dear retirements praise.
A pleasant Road -- but from our purpose wide,
Turn off, and to our Point directly guide.
Of Summer Flow'rs a mighty Host remain,
With those which Autumn musters on the Plain,
Who with Joint forces fill the shining Field,
Grudging that Spring shou'd equal numers yield
To both their Lists; or 'cause some Plants had been
Under the service of both Seasons seen.
Of these, my Muse, rehearse the Chief (for all
Though Mem'ry's Daughter thou can'st ne'r recall) [Latin: 60]
The spikes of Summers Corn thou mayst as well
Or ev'ry Grape of fruitful Autumn tell.
The flamy Pansie ushers Summer in, 143
His friendly March with Summer does begin; 60
Autumn's Companion too (so Proserpine
Hides half the year and half the year is seen)
The Violet is less beautiful than thee,
That of one colour boasts, and thou of three.
Gold, Silver, Purple are thy Ornament,
Thy Rivals thou mightst scorn hadst thou but scent.
The Hesperis assumes a Violet's Name 144
To that which justly from the Hesper came;
Hesper do's all thy precious sweets unfold,
Which coyly thou didst from the Day with-hold:
In him more than the Sun thou tak'st delight,
To him like a kind Bride thou yieldst thy sweet at Night.
The Anthemis a small but glorous Flower,
Scarce rears his Head yet has a Giant's Tow'r;
Forces the lurking Fever to retreat
(Esconc'd like Cacus in his smoky Seat) [Latin: 80]
Recruits the feeble joints and gives them ease:
He makes the burning Inundation cease;
And when his force against the Stone is sent
He breaks the Rock and gives the waters vent. 80
Not Thunder finds through Rocks so swift a course,
Nor Gold the Rampir'd Town so soon can force.
Blew-bottle, thee my Numbers fain wou'd raise,
And thy Complexion challenges my Praise,
Thy Countenance like Summer Skies is fair,
But ah! how diff'rent thy vile Manners are!
Ceres, for this excludes thee from my Song,
And Swains to Gods and me a sacred Throng:
A treach'rous Guest; Destruction thou dost bring
To th'hospitable Field where thou dost spring.
Thou bluntst the very Reaper's Sicle, and so
In Life and Death becom'st the farmers Foe.
The Fenel-Flow'r do's next our Song invite, [image]
Dreadful at once, and lovely to the sight: [Latin: 100]
His Beard all bristly, all unkemb'd his Hair,
Ev'n his wreath'd Horns the same rough aspect bear;
His Visage too a watrish Blew adorns,
Like Achelous, ere his Head wore Horns. [image]
Nor without Reason, (prudent Nature's Care
Gives Plants a Form that might their Use declare) 100
Dropsies it Cures, and makes moist Bodies dry,
It bids the Waters pass, the frighten'd Waters fly,
Do's through the Bodies secret Channels run;
A Water-Goddess in the little World of Man.
But say, Corn-Violet, why thou dost claim
Of Venus Looking Glass the pompous Name?
Thy studded Purple vie, I must confess,
With the most noble and Patrician dress;
Yet wherefore Venus Looking-Glass? that Name
Her Off-spring Rose did ne'r presume to claim.
Antirrhinon, more modest, takes the stile
Of Lions-Mouth, sometimes of Calfsnout vile, [Latin: 120]
By us Snap-dragaon call'd to make amends.
But say what this Chimera-name intends?
Thou well deservs't it, if, as old Wives say,
Thou driv'st nocturnal Ghosts, and Sprights away.
Why do's thy Head, Napellus, Armor wear? 145
Thy Guilt, perfidious Plant, creates thy fear:
Thy Helmet we cou'd willingly allow,
But thou alas, hast mortal Weapons too! 120
But wherefore arm'd? as if for open Fight;
Who work'st by secret Poyson all thy spight.
Helmet gainst Helmet justly thou dost wear,
Blew Anthora, upon thy lovely Hair; 146 [image]
This cov'ring from felt Wounds thy Front do's shield;
With such a Head-piece Pallas goes to field.
What God to thee such baneful force allow'd,
With such Heroick Piety endow'd?
Thou poyson'st more than e'r Medea slew,
Yet no such Antidote Medea knew.
Nor powerful only 'gainst thy own dire harms,
Thy Virtue ev'ry noxious plant disarms: [Latin: 140]
Serpents are harmless Creatures made by Thee,
And Africa its self from Poyson free.
Air, Earth and Seas, with secret Taint opprest,
Discharge themselves of the unwelcome Guest;
On wretched Us they shed the deadly Bane,
Who dye by them that should our Life maintain.
Then Nature seems t'have learnt the poys'ning Trade,
Our common Parent our Step-mother made: 140
'Tis then the sickly World perceives thy Aid,
By thy prevailing force the Plague is staid. [image]
A noble strife 'twixt Fate and Thee we find,
That to destroy, thou to preserve Mankind.
Into thy Lists, thou Martial Plant admit,
Goats Rue, Goats-Rue is for thy Squadrons fit.
Thy Beauty Campion, very much may claim, 147
But of Greek-Rose how didst thou gain the Name?
The Greeks were ever priviledg'd to tell
Untruths, they call thee Rose, who hast no smell.
Yet formerly thou wert in Garlands worn,
Thy starry Beams our Temples still adorn. [Latin: 160]
Thou crown'st our Feasts, where we in Mirth suppose,
And in our Drink allow Thee for a Rose.
The Chalcedonian Soil did once produce
A Lychnis of much greater size and Use;
Form'd like a Sconce, where various branches rise,
Bearing more Lights than Juno's Bird has Eyes. 148
Like those in Palaces, whose Golden Light
Strikes up and makes the gilded Roofs more bright: 160
This, great Mens Tables serves, while that's preferr'd
To Altars and the Gods Celestial Board.
Shou'd Maro ask me in what Region springs
The Race of Flow'rs inscrib'd with Names of Kings,
I answer, that of Flow'rs deserv'dly crown'd
With Royal Titles many may be found,
The Royal Called Loose-strife, Royal Gentian grace 149 150
Our gardens, proud of such a Princely Race.
Soap Wort, though coarse thy Name, thou dost excell 151
In Form, and art enrich'd with fragrant Smell:
As great in Virtue too, for thou giv'st Ease
In Dropsies and Fair Venus foul Disease. [Latin: 180]
Yet dost not servile offices decline,
But condescend'st to make our Kitchins shine.
Rome's Great Dictator thus, his triumph past,
Return'd to plow, nor thought his Pomp debas'd,
The same right hand guides now the humble Stive,
And Oxen Yoaks, that did fierce Nations drive.
Next comes the Flow'r in figure of a Bell, 152
Thy sportive-meaning Nature who can tell: 180
In these what Musick Flora dost thou find?
Say for what jocund Rites they are design'd.
By us these Bells are never heard to sound,
Our Ears are dull, and stupid is our Mind,
Nature is all a Riddle to Mankind.
Some Flow'rs give Men as well as Gods delight,
These gratifie nor Smell, nor Taste, nor Sight;
Why therefore should not our fifth Sense be serv'd? 153
Or is that pleasure for the Gods reserv'd?
But of all Bell-Flow'rs Bindweed do's surpass, 154
Of brighter Metal than Corinthian Brass. [Latin: 200]
My Muse grows hoarse and can no longer sing,
But Throat-Wort hasts her kind relief to bring; The Colleges with Dignity enstal
This Flow'r, at Rome he is a Cardinal. 155
The Fox-Glove on fair Flora's Hand is worn, 156
Lest while she gathers Flow'rs she meet a Thorn.
Lov-Apple, though its Flow'r less fair appears,
It's golden Fruit deserves the Name it bears.
But this is new in Love, where the true Crop 200
Proves nothing; all the Pleasure was i' th'Hope.
The Indian Flow'ry-Reed in Figure vies, 157
And Lustre, with the Cancer of the Skies.
The Indian Cress our Climate now do's bear,
Call'd Larks-heel, 'cause he wears a Horse-mans Spur.
This Gilt-spur Knight prepares his Course to run,
Taking his Signal from the rising Sun.
And stimulates his Flow'r to meet the day:
So Castor mounted spurs his Seed away. [Latin: 220]
This Warriour sure has in some Battel been,
For spots of Bloud upon his Breast are seen.
Had Ovid seen him, how would he have told
His History, a Task for me too bold;
His Race at large and Fortunes had exprest,
And whence those bleeding Signals on thy Brest:
From later Bards such Mysteries are hid,
Nor do's the God inspire, as heretofore he did.
With the same weapon Lark-spur thou dost mount 158
Amongst the Flow'rs, a Knight of high account; [image]
To want those war-like Ensigns were a shame 220
For thee, who kindred dost with Ajax claim:
Of unarm'd Flowers he cou'd not be the Sire,
Who for the loss of Armor did expire: [image]
Of th'ancient Hyacinth thou keep'st the Form, [image]
Those lovely Creatures, that ev'n Phoebus Charm;
In thee those skilful Letters still appear, 159
That prove thee Ajax his undoubted Heir. [Latin: 240]
That up-start Flow'r, that has usurpt thy Fame,
O'rcome by thee, is forc'd to quit his Claim. 160
The Lily too wou'd fain thy Rival be,
And brings, 'tis true, some signs that well agree,
But in Complexion differs much from thee.
At Spring thou mayst adorn the Asian Bow'rs,
We reap thee here among our Summer Flow'rs.
But Martagon a bolder Challenge draws,
And offers Reason to support his Cause:
Nor did Achilles Armor e'r create,
'Twixt Ajax and Ulysses such debate, [image]
So fierce, so great, as at this day we see,
For Ajax Spoils, 'twixt Martagon and thee. 240
That Bastard Dittany of Sanguine hue 161 [image]
From Hector's reeking Bloud Conception drew,
I cannot say, but still a Crimson stain
Tinctures it's Skin, and colours every Vein;
In Man the three chief Seats it do's maintain,
Defends the Heart, the Stomach, and the Brain. [image] [image] [Latin: 260]
But all in vain thy Virtue is employ'd,
To save a Town must be at last destroy'd; [image]
In vain thou fight'st with Heav'n and Destiny,
Our Troy must fall, and thou our Hector die. [image]
Next comes the Candy-Tuft, a Cretan Flower, 162
That rivals Jove in Country and in Power.
The Pellitory healing Fire contains,
That from a raging Tooth the Humor drains;
At bottom red, above 'tis white and pure,
Resembling Teeth and Gums, for both a certain Cure.
The Sow-Bread do's afford rich Food for Swine,
Physick for Man, and Garlands for the Shrine.
Mouse-Ear, like to its Name-sake, loves t' abide 163
In places out o' th'way, from Mankind hid. 260
It loves the shade, and Nature kindly lends
A Shield against the Darts that Phoebus sends;
'Tis with such silky Bristles cover'd o'r,
The tend'rest Virgin's Hand may crop the Flow'r. [Latin: 280]
From all its num'rous Darts no hurt is found,
Its Weapons know to Cure, but not to wound.
Sweet William small, has Form and aspect bright,
Like that sweet Flower that yields great Jove delight;
Had he Majestick bulk, he'd now be stil'd
Jove's flower, and if my skill is not beguil'd,
He was Jove's flower when Jove was but a Child.
Take him with many Flow'rs in one conferr'd,
He's worthy Jove, ev'n now he has a Beard.
The Catch-Fly with Sweet-William we confound,
Whose Nets the stragglers of the swarm surround,
Those viscous Threads that hold th'entangled Prey
From its own treach'rous Entrails force their way.
Three branches in the Barren Wort are found,
Each Branch again with three less Branches crown'd,
The Leaves and Flowers adorning each are three, 280
This Frame must needs contain some Sacred Mystery.
Small are thy Blossoms, double Pelitory,
Which yet united are the Garden's Glory.
Sneezing thou dost provoke, and Love for thee
When thou wert born sneez'd most auspiciously. [Latin: 300]
But thou that from fair Mella tak'st thy Name,
Thy Front surrounded with a Star-like flame, 164
Scorn not the Meads, for from the Meads are born
Wreaths, which the Temples of the Gods adorn;
Kind sustenance thou yieldst the lab'ring Bee,
When scarce thy Mother Earth affords it thee.
Thy Winter-store in hardest Months is found,
And more than once with Flow'rs in Summer crown'd.
Thy Root supplies the place of Flowers decay'd,
and fodder for the fainting Hive is made.
Behold a Monster loathsome to the Eye, 165
Of slender bulk, but dang'rous Policy,
Eight Legs it bears, three joynts in every Limb,
That nimbly move and dextrously can climb,
Its Trunk (all Belly) round, deform'd and swell'd, 300
With fatal Nets and deadly Poyson fill'd.
For Gnats and wand'ring Flies she spreads her toils;
And Robber-like, lives high on ravish'd spoils.
The City Spider, as more civilis'd,
With this less hurtful practice is suffic'd. [Latin: 320]
With greater fury the Tarantula
Tho small it self, makes Men and Beasts it's Prey;
Takes first our Reason then our Life away.
Thou Spider-Wort dost with the Monster strive,
And from the conquer'd Foe thy Name derive.
Thus Scipio, when the Worlds third part he won,
While to the Spoils the meaner Captains run,
The only Plunder he desir'd was Fame,
And from the vanquish'd Foe to take his Name.
The Marvail of the World comes next in view,
At home, but stil'd the Marvail of Peru;
(Boast not too much, proud Soil, thy Mines of gold,
Thy Veins much wealth, but more of Poyson hold.)
Bring o'r the Root, our colder Earth has Power
In its full Beauty to produce the Flower; 320
But yields for Issue no prolific Seed,
And scorns in foreign Lands to Plant and Breed. [Latin: 340]
The Halihock disdains the common size [image] [image]
Of Herbs, and like a Tree do's proudly rise;
Proud she appears, but try her and you'll find
No Plant more mild, or friendly to Mankind:
She gently all Obstructions do's unbind.
The Africans their rich Leaves closely fold, 166
Bright as their Country's celebrated Gold.
Each hollow Leaf, envelop'd, does impart
The form of a gilt Pipe, and seems a work of Art.
Wou'd kind Apollo once these Pipes inspire
They'd give such sounds as should surpass his Lyre.
A more than common date this Flow'r enjoys,
And sees a Month compleated ere she dyes.
These only Fate permits so long to stand,
And crops 'em then with an unwilling Hand, [Latin: 360]
The Calyx where her fertile Seeds are laid
In likeness of a painted Quiver made,
With store of Arrows too this Quiver's grac'd. 340
And decently on Flora's Shoulder plac'd,
When she in Gardens hunts the Butterfly,
In vain the wretch his Sun-burnt wings do's try,
Secure enough, did Fear not make him fly.
Himself would seem a Flow'r if motionless,
and cheat the Goddess with his gaudy dress.
Retreating, the keen Spike his sides do's goad,
To Earth he falls, a light and unfelt Load.
Such was the Punic Caltha, which of Yore,
Of Juno's Rose the lofty Title bore.
Of famous Carthage, now by Fate bereft,
This last (and surely) greatest Pride is left.
How vain, O Flowers, your hopes and wishes be,
Born like your selves by rapid winds away.
Once you had hopes at Hannibal's Return [Latin: 380]
From vanquish'd Rome, his Triumphs to adorn,
And ev'n imperious Carthage Head surround,
When she the Mistris of the World were crown'd;
Presum'd that Flora wou'd for you declare,
Tho she that time a Latian Goddess were: 360
But now (alas!) reduc'd to private State,
Thou shar'st, poor Flower, thy Captive
Countrey's Fate.
Why Holly-Rose, dost thou, of slender frame,
And without scent, assume a Rose's Name?
Fate on thy Pride a swift Revenge does bring,
The Day beholds thee dead, that sees thee spring.
Yet to the shades thy Soul triumphing goes,
Boasting that thou didst imitate the Rose.
A better claim Sweet-Cistus may pretend,
Whose sweating Leaves a fragrant Balsam send:
To crop this Plant the wicked Goat presumes,
Whose fetid Beard the precious Balm perfumes:
But in Revenge of the unhallowed Theft,
The Caitiff's of his larded Beard bereft.
Baldness thou dost redress, nor are we sure
Whether the Beard or Balsam gives the cure. [Latin: 400]
Thy Ointment, Jessamine, without abuse
Is gain'd, yet grave old Sots condemn the use;
Tho' Jove himself, when he is most enrag'd,
With thy Ambrosial Odour is asswag'd: 380
Capricious Men! why should that scent displease,
That is so grateful to the Deities?
Flora her self to th'Orange-Tree lays claim, 167
Calls it her own, Pomona does the same; [image]
Hard words ensue, (for under sense of wrong
Ev'n Goddesses themselves can find a Tongue)
If Apples please you so, Pomona cries,
Take your Love-Apple, and let that suffice,
To claim anothers Right is Harlots trade.
So may a Goddess of an Harlot made.
And on what score, Flora incens'd reply'd,
Were you by kind Vertumnus deify'd? [image] [image] [Latin: 420]
You kept (no thanks) your Maiden Virtue, when
He was a Matron, when a Youth -- what then?
Such fragrant Fruits as these may Flowers be call'd,
And henceforth with that Name shall be enstall'd.
On sundry sorts of Pulse we do bestow
That Title, though in open field they grow,
As others oft are in the Garden seen,
Witness the everlasting Pulse and Scarlet Bean. 400
The vulgar Beans sweet scent, who does not prize,
With Iv'ry Forehead, and with Jet-black Eyes,
Amongst our Garden-Beauties may appear,
If Gardens only their cheap Crop did bear.
Pythagoras, not rightly understood,
Has left a Scandal on the noble Food:
Take care henceforth, ye Sages, to speak true,
Speak truth, and speak intelligibly too.
Lupine unsteep'd, to harshness does encline,
And like old Cato, is of temper rough, [Latin: 440]
But drench the Pulse in Water, him in Wine,
They'll lose their sowrness and grow mild enough.
These Flowers, and thousands more, whose num'rous tribe,
And pompous March, 'twere endless to describe.
The Mandrake only imitates our walk,168
And on two Legs erect is seen to stalk. [image]
This Monster struck Bellona's self with aw,
When first the Man-resembling Plant she saw.
The Water-Lily still is wanting here, 169
What cause can Water-Lily have to fear, 420
Where Beauties of inferiour Rank appear?
Her Form excells, and for Nobility
The whole Assembly might her Vassals be:
A Water-Nymph she was, Alcides Bride,170
(Who sprung from Gods, himself now deify'd)
This cost her dear -- by Love of him betray'd,
The Water-Goddess a poor Plant was made; [Latin: 460]
From this Misfortune she does tristful prove,
And to this hour she hates the name of Love.
All freedom she renounces, Mirth and Play,
That to more close Embraces lead the way:
And since our Flora's former Pranks are know
(Who sprung from Gods, himself now deify'd)
This cost her dear -- by Love of him betray'd,
The Water-Goddess a poor Plant was made;
From this Misfortune she does tristful prove,
And to this hour she hates the name of Love.
All freedom she renounces, Mirth and Play,
That to more close Embraces lead the way:
And since our Flora's former Pranks are known,
(If in a Goddess we such Crimes may own)
In life the common Mistress of the Town.
She scorns at her Tribunal to be seen,
Nor would on terms so scandalous be Queen.
To be from Earth divorc'd she'd rather choose,
And to the Sun her wither'd Root expose.
Thee Maracot a much more sacred Cause 171
From these profane ridic'lous Rites withdraws; [image] 440
With signals of a real God adorn'd,
Poets and Painter's Gods by thee are scorn'd: [image]
T'unfold the Emblems of this mystick Flower [image] [image] [image]
Transcends (alas!) my feeble Muses Power. [Latin: 480]
But Nature sure by chance did ne'r bestow
A form so diff'rent from all Plants that grow,
Enrob'd with ten white Leaves, the proper dress
Of Virgins Chast and sacred Priestesses.
Twice round her two-fold Selvedge you may view,
A Purple Ring, the sacred Martyrs hue.
Thick sprouting Stems of ruddy Saffron-Grain
Strive to conceal the Flower, but strive in vain,
This Coronet of Ruby-Spikes compos'd,
The thorny Bloodstain'd Crown may be suppos'd;
The Blood-stain'd Pillar too a curious Ey
May there behold, and if you closely pry,
The Spung, the Nails, the Scourge thereon you'll spy,
And knobs resembling a Crown'd Head descry.
So deep in Earth the Root descends, you'd swear,
It meant to visit Hell, and Triumph there; 460 [Latin: 500]
In ev'ry Soil it grows, as if it meant
To stretch in Conquest to the World's extent.
[142] Virg. Georg. 4.
[143] Call'd Flamy because her three colours seen in the flame of wood as in the Rainbow.
[144] Dames Violet call'd Hesperis, because it smells strongest in the Night. Plin. lib. 27.7.
[145] Blew Helmet Flowers, or Monks-hood, so called from its figure.
[146] Counter-Poyson-Monks-hood, or wholesom Helmet flower.
[147] Called Lychnis quod noctu lucet.
[148] The Peacock.
[149] Called Lysimachia from Lysimachus.
[150] Found by Gentius King of Illyricum, where they grow largest.
[151] So called from its cleansing quality, used in washing Cloth and scouring Kitchin Vessels.
[152] Bell-flowers Campanulæ.
[153] The Hearing.
[154] Call great Bind-Weed, or great Bell-Flower.
[155] In Latin call'd Flos Cardinalis.
[156] Flos Digitalis from resembling a Glove.
[157] Canna Indica, or, Flos Cancri.
[158] Consolida Regalis.
[159] The Syllables Ac, As, most visible in this flower.
[160] The common Hyacinth, who wants all the Notes of the old Hyacinth or Ajax Flower.
[161] Fraxinella.
[162] Thlaspi.
[163] Auricula muris, Pilosella.
[164] Start-Wort. Virg. Georg. 4.
[165] Phalangium.
[166] A flower so call'd, and sometimes falsly French Marigolds.
[167] Malus Aurantius
[168] Male and Female.
[169] Nymphæa.
[170] See Nymphæa or Water-Lily.
[171] Flos Passionis Christi. The Passion-Flower, or Virginian Climber. The first of these Names was given it by the Jesuites, who pretend to find in it all the Instruments of our Lord's Passion; not so easily discern'd by men of Senses so fine as they.
Beside the fore-nam'd Candidates, but few
Remain'd, and most of them were modest too.
But where such fragrant Rivals did appear,
Who would have thought to find rank Moly there?
Amongst Competitors of such fair Note
Sure, Garlick only will for Moly Vote.
Yet something 'twas, (and Plants themselves confess
The Honour great) that Homer did express
Her famous Name in his Immortal Song:
Swell'd with this Pride, she presses through the throng.
Deep silence o'r the whole Assembly spreads,
Whilst with unsav'ry Breath her Title thus she Pleads.