Chapter XVII

No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: Her sin had now brought in infirmities, And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good.