Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
VII. The Tyrant
From ‘To the Memory of Mrs. Anne Killigrew’
By John Dryden (1631–1700)
 
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NOW all those charms, that blooming grace,
The well-proportion’d shape and beauteous face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies!
Not wit nor piety could fate prevent;        5
Nor was the cruel Destiny content
To finish all the murder at a blow,
To sweep at once her life and beauty too;
But, like a harden’d felon, took a pride
  To work more mischievously slow,        10
  And plunder’d first, and then destroy’d.
O double sacrilege on things divine,
To rob the relic, and deface the shrine!
 
 
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