Veil, Flora! veil, in Pity to Mankind,
Those Charms which make all wretched, but the Blind:
What Eye can such excessive Lustre bear!
Seeing is Love, and loving is Despair;
For soothing Hope but small Relief can give,
Where Multitudes must die, and only one can live.

Forbear, bright Maid! to find a savage Joy,
In having Pow'r unbounded to destroy:
With generous Pity human Quiet spare,
For gentle Mercy best becomes the Fair:
Withdraw those Charms whence fatal Mischiefs flow,
And since you cannot cure, prevent the Woe.