AN Abbess once a certain illness had, Chlorosis named, which oft proves very bad, Destroys the rose that decorates the cheek, And renders females languid, pale, and weak. Our lady's face was like a saint's in Lent: Quite wan, though otherwise it marked content. The faculty, consulted on her case, And who the dire disorder's source would trace, At length pronounced slow fever must succeed, And death inevitably be decreed, Unless;--but this unless is very strange Unless indeed she some way could arrange; To gratify her wish, which seemed to vex, And converse be allowed with t'other sex: Hippocrates, howe'er, more plainly speaks, No circumlocutory phrase he seeks. O JESUS! quite abashed the Abbess cried; What is it?--fy!--a man would you provide? Yes, they rejoined, 'tis clearly what you want, And you will die without a brisk gallant; One truly able will alone suffice; And, if not such, take two we would advise. This still was worse, though, if we rightly guess, 'Twas by her wished, durst she the truth confess. But how the sisterhood would see her take Such remedies and no objection make? Shame often causes injury and pain; And ills concealed bring others in their train. SAID sister Agnes, Madam, take their word; A remedy like this would be absurd, If, like old death, it had a haggard look, And you designed to get by hook or crook. A hundred secrets you retain at ease; Can one so greatly shock and you displease?-- You talk at random, Agnes, she replied; Now, would you for the remedy decide, Upon your word, if you were in my place?-- Yes, madam, said the nun, and think it grace; Still more I'd do, if necessary thought; Your health, by me, would ev'ry way be sought, And, if required by you to suffer this, Not one around would less appear remiss; Sincere affection for you I have shown, And my regard I'll ever proudly own. A THOUSAND thanks the Abbess gave her friend; The doctors said:--no use for them to send; Throughout the convent sad distress appeared; When Agnes, who to sage advice adhered, And was not thought the weakest head around, A kinder soul perhaps could not be found, Said to the sisterhood,--What now retains Our worthy Abbess, and her will enchains, Is nothing but the shame of pow'rs divine, Or else, to what's prescribed she would resign. Through charity will no one take the lead, And, by example, get her to proceed?