The Fourth EPIGRAM. (On GALLA)

 NOw liquid Streams by the fierce Gold do grow
As solid as the Rocks from whence they flow; 
Now Tibers Banks with Ice united meet, 
And it's firm Stream may well be term'd its Street; 
Now Vot'ries 'fore the Shrines like Statues show, 
And scarce the Men from Images we know; 
Now Winters Palsey seizes ev'ry Age, 
And none's so warm, but feels the Seasons Rage; 
Even the bright Lillies and triumphant Red
Which o're Corinna's youthful cheeks are spred, 
Look pale and bleak, and shew a purple hew, 
And Violets staine, where Roses lately grew.
 
 Galla alone, with wonder we behold, 
Maintain her Spring, and still out-brave the Cold; 
Her constant white does not to Frost give place, 
Nor fresh Vermillion fade upon her face: 
 Sure Divine beauty in this Dame does shine? 
 Not Humane, one reply'd, yet not Divine.

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