preceding a1r preceding a1r

An engraved portrait of Elizabeth Rowe in a frame with the text Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe. The frame is ornamented with drapes as well as a staff, a crown, a fife, a garland, and some parchment. Mrs Elizabeth Rowe.

preceding a1r preceding a1r

A similar engraved portrait of Elizabeth Rowe in a frame with the text Mrs Elizabeth Rowe. This portrait is signed in the lower left hand corner by the engraver: Tho. Kitchen Sculp. Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe. Tho. KitchinSculp.

preceding a1r preceding a1r

Another engraved portrait of Elizabeth Rowe in a frame with the text Mrs Elizabeth Rowe. The border and ornamentation remain the same, but the quality of her expression has improved. This portrait is signed by the engraver: G. Vertue Sculp. Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe. G. VertueSculp.


On Several

Written By

Printed for John Dunton at the Raven
in Jewen-ſtreet. 16961696.

a1v a2r

Preface to the Reader.

The occaſion of this Preface is, to give the World ſome account of the Author of theſe Poems, as far as I’m permitted to do it: An Employment I the more willingly chuſe, becauſe our Sex has ſome Excuſe for a little Vanity, when they have ſo good Reaſon for’t, and ſuch a Champion among themſelves, as not many of the other can a2boaſt a2v boaſt of. We are not unwilling to allow Mankind the Brutal Advantages of Strength, they are Superior to ours in Force, they have Cuſtom of their ſide, and have Ruled, and are like to do ſo, and may freely do it without Diſturbance or Envy; at leaſt they ſhould have none from us, if they cou’d but keep quiet among themſelves. But when they wou’d Monopolize Sence too, when neither that, nor Learning, nor ſo much as Wit muſt be allow’d us, but all over-rul’d by the Tyranny of the Prouder Sex; nay, when some of ’em won’t let us ſay our Souls are our own, but wou’d perſwade us we are no more Reaſonable Creatures then themſelves, or their Fellow-Animals; we then muſt a3r muſt ask their Pardons if we are not yet ſo Compleatly paſſive as to bear all without ſo much as a murmur: We complain, and we think with reaſon, that our Fundamental Conſtitutions are deſtroyed; that here’s a plain and an open deſign to render us meer Slaves, perfect Turkiſh Wives, without Properties, or Senſe, or Souls; and are forc’d to Proteſt againſt it, and appeal to all the World, whether theſe are not notorious Violations on the Liberties of Free- born Engliſh Women? This makes the Meekeſt Worm amongſt us all, ready to turn agen when we are thus trampled on; But alas! What can we do to Right our ſelves? ſtingleſs and harmleſs as we are, we can only Kiſs the A3Foot a3v Foot that hurts us. However, ſometimes it pleaſes Heaven to raiſe up ſome Brighter. Genius then ordinary to Succour a Diſtreſſed People—; an Epaminondas in Thebes; a Timoleon for Corinth; (for you muſt know we Read Plutarch now ’tis Tranſlated) and a Naſſaw for all the World: Nor is our Defenceleſs Sex forgotton—we have not only Bunduca’s and Zenobia’s, but Sappho’s, and Behn’s, and Schurman’s, and Orinda’s, who have humbled the moſt haughty of our Antagoniſts, and made ’em do Homage to our Wit, as well as our Beauty. ’Tis true, their Miſchievous and Envious ſex have made it their utmoſt endeavours to deal with us, as Hannibal was a4r was ſerv’d at Capua, and to Corrupt that Virtue which they can no otherwiſe overcome: and ſometimes they prevail’d: But, if ſome Angels fell, others remain’d in their Innocence and Perfection, if there were not alſo ſome addition made to their Happineſs and Glory, by their continuing ſtedfaſt. Angels Love, but they love Virtuouſly and Reaſonably, and neither err in the Object, nor the Manner: And if all our Poeteſſes had done the ſame, I wonder what our Enemies cou’d have found out to have objected againſt us: However, here they are ſilenc’d; and I dare be bold to ſay, that whoever does not come extreamly prejudic’da4 dic’d a4v dic’d to theſe Poems, will find in ’em that vivacity of Thought, that purity of Language, that ſoftneſs and delicacy in the Love-part, that ſtrength and Majeſty of Numbers almoſt every where, eſpecially on Heroical Subjects, and that clear and unaffected Love to Virtue; that heighth of Piety and warmth of Devotion in the Canticles, and other Religious Pieces; which they will hardly find exceeded in the beſt Authors on thoſe Different Kinds of Writing, much leſs equall’d by any ſingle Writer.

And now I have nothing more, I think, lies upon my Hands, but to aſsure the Reader, a5r Reader, that they were actually Writ by a young Lady, (all, but ſome of the Anſwers, as is well-known to ſome Perſons of Quality and Worth) whoſe Name had been prefix’d, had not her own Modeſty abſolutely forbidden it.

The way of Thinking and Writing is all along the ſame, only varying with the Subject; and the Whole ſo very agreeable a mixture, that unleſs Philaret and my Self, who have the Honour to be her Friends, and who perſwaded her to Publiſh this Firſt Volume, are very partial, ’tis more than probable, they will meet with ſo favourable a Reception with the Pious a5v Pious and Ingenious Reader, that we may e’re long prevail with Her to oblige the World with a Second Part, no way inferior to the former.

Elizabeth Johnſon.

To a6r

To The Author Of theſe Poems, Known only by Report, and by Her Works.

No—’tis in vain—attempt not to perſuade!

They were not, cou’d not be by Woman made:

Each Thought ſo ſtrong, ſo finiſh’d every Line,

All o’r we ſee ſo rich a Genius ſhine;

O more then Man, we Cry, O Workmanſhip Divine!

Courtly the Stile as Wallers, clear, and neat,

Not Cowley’s Sence more Beautiful, or great:

Numerous a6v

Numerous the verſe, as Drydens flowing ſtrain;

Smooth as the Thames, yet Copious as the Main.

But when the Author Royal Mary mourns,

Or in ſoft Fires for gay Oreſtes burns

Agen, our ſexes Pride is undeceiv’d:

A Soul ſo Soft in Man yet never liv’d.

In vain, alas in vain our Fate we ſhun;

We Read, and Sigh, and Love, and are undon:

Circæan charms, and Female Arts we prove,

Tranſported all to ſome New World of Love.

Now our Ears tingle, and each thick-drawn-Breath

Comes hard, as in the Agonys of Death:

Back to the panting Heart the purple Rivers flow,

Our Swimming Eyes, to ſee, our Feet unlearn to goe:

In a7r

In every trembling Nerve a ſhort-liv’d Palſy reigns,

Strange Feavers boyl our Blood, yet ſhudder thro’ our Veins,

Tyrannous Charmer hold! our Sence, our Souls reſtore!

Monopolize not Love, nor make the World adore!

Can Heavenly minds be angry! can ſhe frown?

What Thunders has one eager Thought pull’d down?

Diana thus by the bold Hunter found,

Inſtead of Darts, ſhot angry Bluſhes round.

O Goddeſs Spare—all white as Cyprias Dove

Is thy untarniſht Soul, and Loves as Angels Love;

Honour and Virtue each wild-wiſh repel,

And doubly ſink ’em to their Native Hell.

Saints may by thee their holieſt Thoughts refine,

And Veſtal-Virgin’s dreſs their Souls by thine,

Sure a7v

Sure none but you ſuch Paſſion cou’d reſtrain;

None ever Lov’d like you, and Lov’d in vain.

What Age can equal, what Hiſtorian find

Such Tenderneſs, with ſo much Duty joyn’d?

Sappho and Behn reform’d, in thee revive,

In thee we ſee the Chaſt Orinda live.

Thy works expreſs thy Soul, we read thee there,

Not thine own Pencil draws more like, or fair.

As Flowers ſteal unobſerv’d from Nature’s Bed,

And ſilent ſweets around profuſely ſhed

So you in Secret ſhades unknown, unſeen

Commence at once a Muſe, and Heroine.

Yet you’re in vain unknown, in vain wou’d ſhrow’d

That Sun, which ſhines too bright t’ endure a cloud.

Prepare a8r

Prepare then for that Fame which you deſpiſe!

But when you’re ſeen, ſtill hide, O hide your Eyes!

Love Vertue, and adorn’t! ſtill let us ſee

Such Wit and Beauty joyn’d with Piety.

Let Heaven and Heaven’s Vicegerent always ſhare

Your nobleſt Thoughts, and your moſt Dutious care.

William’s a Name, you’re Fated to Record,

No Pen but yours can match the Heroes Sword.

If yon Associate too, you’ll guard Him more

Then all the Loyal Myriads gon before.

Let harden’d Traitors know what ’tis to’ abuſe

The Patience of a King and of a Muſe.

Let ’em no more a Monarch’s Juſtice dare,

Draw off his ſide, at once, and End the War!

Theſe a8v

Theſe juſt, tho’ poor Acknowledgments I ſend,

From diſtant Shades, to Heav’ns and Ceſars Friend:

Thoſe but debaſe, who weakly ſtrive to raiſe,

You’ll ne’re grow vain with ――’s humble praiſe.

Poems 2a1r To
A1r 1

Poems on Several Occaſions.

Platonick Love.


So Angels Love and all the reſt is droſs,

Contracted, ſelfiſh, ſenſitive and groſs.

Unlike to this, all free and unconfin’d,

Is that bright flame I bear thy brighter mind.


No ſtragling wiſh, or ſymptom of deſire,

Comes near the Limits of this holy fire;

A Yet A1v 2

Yet ’tis intenſe and active, tho ſo fine;

For all my pure immortal part is thine.


Why ſhould I then the Heav’nly ſpark controul,

Since there’s no brighter Ray in all my Soul,

Why ſhould I bluſh to indulge the noble flame,

For which even friendſhip’s a degrading name.


Nor is the greatneſs of my Love to thee,

A ſacriledge unto the Deity,

Can I th’ enticing ſtream almoſt adore,

And not reſpect its lovely fountain more?

humane A2r 3

Humane Love: By a Country Gentleman, In Anſwer to Platonick Love.


So Angels love, So let them love for me;

As mortal, I muſt like a mortal be.

My Love’s as pure as their’s, more unconfin’d;

I love the Body, they but love the Mind.


Without enjoyment, Can deſire be ill?

For that which wou’d a Man with pleaſure fill;

This more intenſe and active, ſure muſt be,

Since I both Soul and Body give to thee.

A2 This A2v 4


This flame as much of Heaven as that contains,

And more, for unto that but half pertains:

Friendſhip one Soul to th’ other doth unite,

But Love joins all, and therefore is more bright.


Neither doth—Humane Love—Religion harm,

But rather us againſt our Vices arm:

Shall I not for a charming Miſtreſs dye?

When Heaven commands increaſe and multiply.

To A3r 5

To the Mr. ―― ―― on his Poem.


Some Tuneful Being now my Breaſt inſpire

With Thoughts as Gay and Noble as Celeſtial Fire;

For Clitus is my Theam;

But ah in vain born on Pindarick Wings,

My ventrous Muſe

The mighty Aim purſues;

For to his Native Skies ſtill Clitus mounts and Sings,

And we are diſtant ſtill to an extream.

A3 Behold A3v 6


Behold the Heavenly Charmer, how he keeps aloft;

While Angels Crowd, and Liſten to his Song;

And not an Angel-Critick in the throng

That durſt correct a Thought.

So Nobly are they Dreſt,

And Gracefully expreſt;

So ſmoothly glide the Numbers from his Tongue;

So well his Touch the Charming Strings obey,

That all his Heavenly Auditors Admire,

To hear him weild an equal Theam with as much skill as they.

His Voice and Theam did even their Harps inſpire;

And the Glad Anthem they repeat agen,

Glory to God, Peace and Good-will to Men.

To A4r 7

To Mrs. Mary Friend; Knowing her but by Report.

’Twere both unjuſt and ſtupid to refuſe

To ſo much Worth, the Tribute of my Muſe;

Tho Saints, as well, may thoſe Bright Forms expreſs,

That in a Rapture they conceive of Bliſs;

As I can give ſuch Wondrous Charms their due,

Or, Dreſs in Words, my Brighter Thoughts of You,

Charming, and Gay, your Fair Idea ſeems

As Gay, as if compos’d of Love and Beams;

Such Heavenly Rays adorn your Lovely Eyes,

That, by Imagination, they ſurprize,

And, at your Feet, a Female Victim lies:

A4 But A4v 8

But how, Fair Nymph, will your Approaches Fire,

If Diſtant Charms ſuch gentle thoughts inſpire.

Paraphrase On Joh. 3. 16――For God ſo loved The World, that he gave his only begotten Son, &c.


Yes; ſo God loved the World; But where

Are this Great Loves Dimenſions?

Even Angels ſtop; for, baffled here

Are their vaſt Apprehenſions.

In vain they ſtrive to Graſp the boundleſs thing;

Not all their Comments can explain the mighty Truth I Sing.

Yet A5r 9


Yet ſtill they pauſe on the Contents

Of this Amazing Story;

How he that fill’d the wide extents

Of Uncreated Glory?

He whom the Heaven of Heavens cou’d not contain;

Shou’d yet within Sacred Maids contracted Womb remain.


They ſee him Born, and hear him Weep,

To aggravate their Wonder;

Whoſe Awful Voice had ſhook the Deep,

And Breath’d his Will in Thunder:

That Awful Voice, chang’d to an Infant’s Cry;

Whilſt in a Feeble Woman’s Arms he ſeems conſtrain’d to lye.

A A5v 10


A God (Ah! Where are Humane boaſts?)

Extended in a Manger?

The Lord of all the Heavenly Hoſts

Expos’d to Scorn and Danger?

The Onely Bleſt, the All-ſufficient Weeps:

But Oh, who Guides the Staggering World, while its Protector Sleeps?


And canſt thou Man ungrateful prove.

When ’twas for thy Salvation,

He left thoſe Splendid Seats above,

His late bright Habitation?

Where all his Deity Shone, without the Allay

Of a Seraphick Vehicle, or deſicated Clay.


Where he Tranſcendently poſſeſt

The Fullneſs of Perfection:

Tho here benighted and oppreſt,

The Type of all Dejection.

He A6r 11

He asks for Food, that gave the Ravens Bread;

And the Great Founder of the World wants where to lay his Head.


But Oh what Dark Cataſtrophe

Does Hell at laſt Conſpire!

Behold! upon a Curſed Tree

The Lord of Life Expire:

From this, Amaz’d, the Sun withdraws his Eye,

Afraid to ſee his Maker Bleed, and the Eternal Dye.


The Seraphims that throng’d about,

’Twixt Hope and Conſternation;

Now Blaze the Wondrous News throughout

The Radiant Corporation:

Who vainly ſtrive the Miſtery to ſcan,

And Fathom the Stupendious Depths of this Great Love to Man.

He A6v 12


He on the Rights of Juſtice ſtood,

With their Exalted Nature,

That now, through Streams of Sacred Blood

Wafts the Terreſtial Creature;

Wafts Duſty-Man to that Felicity,

Which the Apoſtate Son of Light muſt never hope to ſee.

The Expoſtulation.


How long, great God, a wretched captive here,

Muſt I theſe hated marks of bondage wear?

How long ſhall theſe uneaſy chains controul

The willing flights of my impatient Soul?

How A7r 13

How long ſhall her moſt pure intelligence

Be ſtrain’d through an infectious ſcreen of groſs, corrupted ſence?


When ſhall I leave this darkſome houſe of clay;

And to a brighter manſion wing away?

There’s nothing here my thoughts to entertain,

But one Tyr’d revolution o’re again:

The Sun and Stars obſerve their wonted round,

The ſtreams their former courſes keep: No Novelty is found.


The ſame curſt acts of falſe fruition o’re,

The ſame wild hopes and wiſhes as before;

Do men for this ſo fondly life careſs,

(That airy huff of ſplendid emptineſs?)

Unthinking ſots: kind Heaven let me be gone,

I’m tyr’d, I’m ſick of this dull Farce’s repetition.

To A7v 14

To my Lady Carteret.

Too great your Power, and too ſoft my Breaſt:

The charming Inſpiration to reſiſt:

But Oh in what bold Strain ſhall I begin,

To breathe th’ unuſual Potent Inſtinct in?

Such pleaſing looks, in midſt of Spring, adorn

The Flowry Fields; ſo ſmiles the Beauteous Morn.

But, What are theſe dull Metaphors to you?

Or, What is all, my Fancy has in view?

A Form more fine, more accurately wrought,

Was ne’r conceiv’d by a Poetick Thought?

So mild your eyes, ſo beautiful and bright,

That lovelier eyes did ne’r ſalute the Light;

With ſuch a gentle look, and ſuch an air;

So lovely, ſo exceeding ſweet, and fair,

To us, the Heavenly Meſſengers appear:

Whilſt A8r 15

Whilſt Man too feeble for their bright extreams,

With ſuch ſoft Smiles as yours they’r forc’t to allay their Beams.

And, though after my Skin, Worms deſtroy this Body, yet in my Fleſh ſhall I ſee God, Job 19. 26

What tho my Soul rent from the cloſe imbrace

Of this material conſort, take its flight,

(Exil’d the Confines of her Native place)

And leave theſe eyes clos’d in a Diſmal Night:

She ſhall agen reſume the dear abode,

And, cloath’d in Fleſh, I ſhall behold my God.


Tho in the Gloomy Regions of the Grave,

Forgotten, and inſenſible I lye;

That tedious night ſhall a bright morning have,

The welcome dawnings of Eternity.

My A8v 16

My Soul ſhall then reſume her old abode,

And cloath’d in fleſh, I ſhall behold my God.


Altho reſolv’d unto my Native duſt,

Its proper part, each Element refine;

Yet at my awfull Makers breath they muſt

The Individual Particles reſign:

And then my Soul ſhall take her old abode,

And cloath’d in Fleſh, I ſhall behold my God.

To Sir Chareles Sedley.

But ſtay ’tis Sedley――and it were a crime

For me to graſp a Subject ſo ſublime:

Since nothing but his own Cœleſtial lays

Are fit the Authour of ſuch flights to praiſe,

Nor dare my thoughts make the unequal choice

My Infant-muſe has yet, but try’d her tender voice.

To B1r 17

To the Honourable Mrs. E―― Stretchy.

The Artful hand of Nature ne’r diſplay’d

More skill, then when your Charming Self was made:

A Shape, a Face, and Meen ſo rare, that we

Think you her boaſted Maſter-piece to be;

Whilſt that Bright Soul that Heaven has plac’t within,

Makes every Charm with double-luſtre ſhine:

But ſince I on my Lyre can touch no String,

Equal to thoſe great Merits, I would Sing,

Hopeleſs, to give ſuch mighty Charms their due,

I’ll leave the World to Brighter Thoughts of you.

B A B1v 18

A Pindarick Poem on Habbakuk.


When God from Teman came,

And cloath’d in Glory from Mount- Paran ſhone,

Dreſt in th’unſufferable Flame

That hides his dazling Throne,

His Glory ſoon eclips’d the once bright Titan’s Rays,

And fill’d the trembling Earth with Terror and Amaze.

Reſplendent Beams did crown his awful Head,

And ſhining brightneſs all around him ſpread;

Omnipotence he graſpt in his ſtrong Hand,

And liſtning Death ſtood waiting on his dread Command;

Waiting ’till his reſistleſs Bolts he’d throw;

Devouring Coals beneath his Feet did glow:

All B2r 19

All Natures Frame did quake beneath his Feet,

And with his Hand he the vaſt Globe did mete;

The frighted Nations ſcattered,

And at his ſight the baſhful Mountains fled,

The everlaſting Hills their Founder’s Voice obey,

And ſtoop their lofty Heads to make th’ Eternal way.

The diſtant Ethiops all Confuſion are,

And Midian’s trembling Curtains cannot hide their Fear:

When thy ſwift Chariots paſs’d the yielding Sea,

The bluſhing Waves back in amazement flee,

Affrighted Jordan ſtops his flowing Urn,

And bids his forward Streams back to their Fountain turn.


Arm’d with thy mighty Bow,

Thou marchedſt out againſt thy daring Foe:

B2 And B2v 20

And very terrible thou didſt appear

To them, but thus thy darling People cheer.

Know, Jacob’s Sons, I am the God of Truth,

Your Father Jacob’s God, nor can I break my Oath.

The Mountains ſhook as our dread Lord advanc’d,

And all the little Hills around ’em danc’d:

The neighb’ring Streams their verdant Banks o’reflow,

The Waters ſaw and trembled at the ſight,

Back to their old Abyſs they go,

And bear the News to everlaſting Night:

The Mother Deep within its hollow Caverns roars,

And beats the ſilent Shores.

The Sun above no longer dares to ſtrive,

Nor will his frighted Steeds their wonted Journey drive.

ehTThe B3r 21

The Moon, to ſee her Brother ſtop his Car,

Grew pale, and curb’d her ſable Reins for Fear,

Thy threatning Arrows gild their flaming way,

And at the glittering of thy Spear the Heathen dare not ſtay;

The very ſight of thee did them ſubdue,

And arm’d with Fury thou the Vict’ry didſt purſue.

So now, great God, wrapt in avenging Thunder,

Meet thin and William’s Foes, and tread them groveling under.

The Athenians To the Compiler of the Pindarick now Recited.


We yield! we yield! the Palm, bright Maid! be thine!

How vaſt a Genius ſparkles in each Line!

How Noble all! how Loyal! how Divine!

B3 Sure B3v 22

Sure thou by Heaven-inſpir’d, art ſent

To make the Kings and Nations Foes repent,

To melt each Stubborn Rebel down,

Or the Almighty’s hov’ring Vengeance ſhow,

Arm’d with his glittering Spear and dreadful Bow,

And yet more dreadful Frown.

Ah wou’d they hear! ah wou’d they try

Th’ exhauſtleſs Mercy yet in ſtore

From Earths and Heavens offended Majeſty,

Both calmly ask, Why will they dye?

Ah! wou’d they yet Repent, and ſin no more!


How bleſs’d, how happy we,

Cou’d all we write one Convert make,

How gladly New Affronts cou’d take

One Convert to dear Virtue, and dear Loyalty?

Tho’ the full Crop reſerv’d for thee.

Oh Virgin! touch thy Lyre:

What B4r 23

What Fiend ſo ſtubborn to refuſe

The ſoft, yet powerful Charms of thy Cleſtial Muſe?

What gentle Thoughts will they inſpire!

How will thy Voice, how will thy Hand,

Black Rebel-Legions to the Deep Command!

Black Rebel-Legions murmuring take their flight,

And ſink away to conſcious Shades of everlaſting Night:

While thoſe they left, amazed ſtand,

And ſcarce believe themſelves, theſelves to find

Cloath’d, calm, and in a better Mind.


Begin, begin, thy Noble Choice,

Great William claims thy Lyre, and claims thy Voice,

All like himſelf the Hero ſhew,

Which none but thou canſt do.

B4 At B4v 24

At Landen paint him, Spears and Trophies round,

And Twenty thouſand Deaths upon the ſlippery ground:

Now, now the dreadful Shock’s begun,

Fierce Luxemburg comes thundering on:

They charge, retreat, return and fly,

Advance, retire, kill, conquer, dye!

Tell me, ſome God, what Gods are thoſe

Enwrapt in Clouds of Smoak and Foes,

Who oft the tottering Day reſtore?

’Tis William and Bavaria, ſay no more!

William―― that lov’d, that dreadful Name!

Bavaria! Rival of his Fame.

A third comes cloſe behind, who ſhou’d he be?

’Tis Ormond! mighty Ormond! ſure ’tis he:

’Tis nobly fought—they muſt prevail;

Ah no, our Sins weigh down the doubtful Scale.

Ah B5r 25

Ah thankleſs England, they engag’d for thee,

Or never cou’d have miſs’d the Victory:

With high Diſdain from the moiſt Field they go,

And dreadfully Retreat, yet Face the trembling Foe.


Thus Sing, Bright Maid! thus and yet louder Sing,

Thy God and King!

Cheriſh that Noble Flame which warms thy Breaſt,

And be by future Worlds admir’d and bleſs’d:

The preſent Ages ſhort-liv’d Glories ſcorn,

And into wide Eternity be born!

There Chaſt Orinda’s Soul ſhall meet with thine,

More Noble, more Divine;

And in the Heaven of Poetry for ever ſhine:

There all the glorious few,

To Loyalty and Virtue true,

Like her and you.

’Tis B5v 26

’Tis that, ’tis that alone muſt make you truely great,

Not all your Beauty equal to your Wit,

(For ſure a Soul ſo fine

Wou’d ne’r poſſeſs a Body leſs divine)

Not all Mortallity ſo loudly boaſt,

Which withers ſoon and fades,

Can ought avail when hurry’d to th’ uncomfortable Coaſts,

Where wander wide lamenting Ghosts,

And thin unbody’d Shades.

’Tis Virtue only with you goes,

And guards you thro’ Ten thouſand Foes;

Hold faſt of that, ’twill ſoon direct your flight

To endleſs Fame and endleſs Light;

If that you loſe, you ſink away,

And take eternal leave of Day.

Then fly falſe Man, if you’d an Angel prove,

And conſecrate to Heaven your Nobler Love.

A B6r 27

A Poetical Queſtion concerning the Jacobites, ſent to the Athenians.

’Twas nobly thought, and worthy—ſtill;

So I reſolv’ t’ employ my Loyal Quill.

Virtue, and our unequall’d Heroes praiſe!

What Theams more glorious can exact my Lays ?

William! A Name my Lines grow proud to bear!

A Prince as Great, and wondrous Good, as e’re

The ſacred Burden of a Crown did wear.

Reſolve me, then, Athenians, what are thoſe,

(Can there be any ſuch?) You call his Foes?

His Foes, Curſt word, and why they’d pierce his breaſt,

Ungrateful Vipers! where they warmly reſt?

The B6v 28

The Athenians Ansſwer.

Their Name is Legion, grinning from a far

Againſt the Throne, who wage unequal War;

Tho’ nearer, on perpetual Guard, attends

A far more numerous Hoſt of brighter Friends:

Around our Prince, Heav’ns Care, the ſacred Band

With fiery Arms in firm Battalia ſtand:

To him mild Light, and Lambent Beams they ſhow,

But Wrath and Terror to his harden’d Foe.

See the black Phalanx melt, they melt away,

As guilty Ghoſts ſlink from approaching Day,

Behold their Leaders, deckt in horrid State,

Nor wonder why they Heav’n and Cæſar hate.

Firſt mark their haughty General, arm’d compleat

In Plates of glowing Steel! ’tis Lucifer the great!

See B7r 29

See his proud Standard o’re his Tent enlarg’d!

With bloated Toads, an odious Bearing, charg’d.

The ancient Arms which once his Shield adorn’d,

Tho’ ’tis of late to Flour-de-Lis’s turn’d.

Blaſphemous Belial! next thy Squadrons ſtand!

Lawleſs and Lewd, a baffled blaſted band,

Each holds a kindled Pamphlet in his hand.

Theſe make the Groſs, the reſt we may de deſpiſe,

(Retailers they of Treaſon, and of Lies)

Lucifer’s Friends, and Cæſars Enemies.

Ah were there none but theſe, who wou’d not be

Proud and Ambitious of their Enmity!

There’s one ſmall party, near, too near their Line,

Which hover yet, and ſcarce know which to joyn.

No black, no ugly marks of Sin diſgrace

Their nobler Forms, no malice in their Face:

A Duskier Gleam they wear then e’re they fell,

Their Plumes juſt ſcorcht, too near ally’d to Hell.

What B7v 30

What mad miſtaken bravery draws ’em in,

Where Conſtancy’s no Virtue but a Sin?

How can they ſtill their fallen Prince eſteem?

When falſe to Heaven, why are they true to him?

O! muſt they ſink! a glorious Starry Race!

They are almoſt too good, for that ſad place.

That waits their Fall: It muſt not, cannot be,

If err we do, wee’l err with Charity,

Father! they may be Sav’d! we’ll joyn with Thee!

Upon King William’s paſſing the Boyn, &c.

What mighty genious thus excites my Breaſt

With flames too great to manage or reſiſt;

And prompts my humbler Muſe at once to Sing,

(Unequal Task) the Hero and the King.

Oh B8r 31

Oh were the potent inſpiration leſs!

I might find words its Raptures to expreſs;

But now I neither can its force controul,

Nor paint the great Ideas of my Soul:

Even ſo the Prieſts Inſpir’d, left half the Mind

Of the unutterable God behind.

Too ſoft’s my Voice the Hero to expreſs;

Or, like himſelf, the War-like Prince to dreſs;

Or, ſpeak him Acting in the dreadful Field,

As Brave Exploits as e’r the Sun beheld;

(Secure, and Threatning as a Martial God,

Among the thickeſt of his Foes he Rode;

And, like an Angry Torrent forc’t his way

Through all the Horrors that in Ambuſh lay:)

Or at the Boyne deſcribe him as he ſtood

Reſolv’d, upon the edges of the Flood:

On, on, Great William; for no Breaſt but Thine,

Was ever urg’d with ſuch a Bold Deſign:

Indulge B8v 32

Indulge the Motions of this Sacred Heat;

For none but thee can weild a thought ſo great.

He’s lanch’d, he’s lanch’d; the foremoſt from the Shore;

The Nobleſt Weight that e’r the River Bore.

To ſmooth their Streams, the ſmiling Naides haſt;

And, Riſing, did him Homage as he paſs’d:

And all the ſhapes of Death and Horror――

No more—ah ſtay—though in a cauſe ſo good;

’Tis pitty to expend that Sacred Blood.

Why wilt thou thus the boldeſt Dangers ſeek,

And foremoſt through the Hoſtile Squadrons break?

Why wilt thou thus ſo bravely venture all?

Oh, where’s unhappy Albion, ſhould’ſt thou fall?

Keep near him ſtill, you kind Æthereal Powers,

That Guard him, and are pleas’d, the Task is yours.

All C1r 33

All the Ill Fate that threatens him oppoſe;

Confound the Forces of his Foreign Foes,

And Treacherous Friends leſs generous then thoſe;

May Heaven ſucceſs to all his Actions give,

And long, and long, and long, let William live.

The Vanity of the World, In a Poem to the Athenians.

What if ſerenly bleſt with Calms I ſwam

Pactolus in thy golden Sanded ſtream?

Not all the wealth that laviſh Chance cou’d give

My ſoul from Death cou’d one ſhort Hour reprieve.

When from my Heart the wandring Life muſt move

No Cordial all my uſeleſs Gold cou’d prove.

What tho’ I plung’d in Joys ſo deep and wide,

’Twou’d tire my Thoughts to reach the diſtant ſide,

Fancy it ſelf ’twou’d tire to plumb the Abyſs;

If I for an uncertain Leaſe of this

Sold the fair hopes of an eternal bliſs?

C What C1v 34

What if inveſted with the Royal State

Of dazling Queens, ador’d by Kings I ſat?

Yet when my trembling Soul’s diſlodg’d wou’d be

No Room of State within the Grave for me.

What if my Youth, in Wits and Beautys bloom

Shou’d promiſe many a flatt’ring Year to come:

Tho’ Death ſhou’d paſs the beauteous Flouriſher,

Advancing Time wou’d all its Glory marr.

What if the Muſes loudly ſang my Fame,

The barren Mountains ecchoing with my Name?

An envious puff might blaſt the riſing Pride.

And all its bright conſpicuous Luſtre hide.

If o’re my Relicks Monuments they raiſe

And fill the World with Flattery, or with Praiſe,

What wou’d they all avail, if ſink I muſt,

My Soul to endleſs ſhades, my Body to the duſt?

The C2r 35

The Athenians Anſwer.

Nothing, Ah nothing! Virtue only gives

Immortal praiſe that only ever lives.

What pains wait Vice, what endleſs Worlds of Woe

You know full well, but may you never know.

The Rapture.


Lord! if one diſtant glimpſe of thee

Thus elevate the Soul,

In what a heighth of Extaſie

Do thoſe bleſs’d Spirits roll,


Who by a fixt eternal View

Drink in immortal Raies;

To whom unveiled thou doſt ſhew

Thy Smiles without Allays?

C2 An C2v 36


An Object which if mortal Eyes

Cou’d make approaches to,

They’d ſoon eſteem their beſt-lov’d Toys

Not worth one ſcornfull View.


How then, beneath its load of Fleſh

Wou’d the vex’d Soul complain!

And how the Friendly Hand ſhe’d bleſs

Wou’d break her hated Chain!

A Paraphraſe on the Canticles

Chap. 1


Wilt thou deny the bounty of a Kiſs,

And ſee me languiſh for the Melting bliſs?

More ſweet to me than bright delicious Wine,

Preſt from the Purple cluſters of the Vine:

As C3r 37

As Fragrant too as Ointments poured forth,

Are the loud Eccho’s of thy matchleſs worth;

Which makes the Virgins, kindled by thy fame,

Wiſh to expire in the Celeſtial Flame:

Come then, diſplay thy Lovely Face, and we,

Drawn by reſiſtleſs Charmes, will follow thee;

Into thy Royal Chambers brought, where I,

May ſee my Lord, and fear no Witneſs by.

I’m black, tis true, for ſcorching in the Sun;

I kept anothers Vine, and left my own;

But tho thus Clouded, the reflecting Face

Of my Bright Love ſhall all this blackneſs chaſe.

Say then my Dear, much dearer than my Soul;

Where feed thy Milky Flocks? Unto what cool

Refreſhing Shade doſt thou reſort? leaſt I

Should (as I languiſh) in thy abſence dye:

Say, Lovely Shepherd, ſay, What happy Streams

Are gilded now with thy Illuſtrious Beams?

C3 I’ll C3v 38


I’ll tell thee, Faireſt of all Women, how,

Thou maiſt my moſt frequented Paſtures know:

Follow the Footſteps of my Flocks, and there

I will not fail to Meet my Charming Fair.

Whom I, as Miſtreſs of my Flocks will Grace,

And on her Brows immortal Garlands Place.


The while my Spicknard ſhall aſcend, and Greet

My Charmer with its Tributary Sweet:

Then, all the Night, upon my Panting Breaſt,

As Fragrant Mirrh; let my Beloved Reſt.

So Sweet he is, that Mirrh, nor Cypreſs ere

With ſuch Delicious Breathings fill’d the Air.

When thy Two Lovely Eyes Inflame my Heart,

It leaps for Joy, and meets th’ unerring Dart.

Oh C4r 39


Oh thou more Fair, more vaſtly bright, then all

The World did ever Bright, or Glorious call:

My Verdant Love ſtill flouriſhing, to thee

Shall fixt, as our Eternal Manſions be.

Chap. II.


At thy Approach, my Cheek with Bluſhes glows,

And Conſcious warmth, which with Thee comes and goes;

Like the Pale Lilly joyn’d to Sharon’s-Roſe;

And Thorns to them I ſooner would compare,

Then other Beauties to my Darling Fair.


And I as ſoon would rank a Fruitful Tree

With barren ſhrubs, as Mortal clods with thee.

C4 Beneath C4v 40

Beneath thy Shade, bleſt, to my wiſh, I ſate,

And of thy Royal Banquet freely eat;

Whilſt o’r my head a Banner was diſplay’d:

In which, oh Melting Sight, the God of Love did Bleed.

Exceſs of Pleaſure will my Soul deſtroy;

I’m ev’n oppreſt with the Tyrannick Joy:

Oh therefore turn thy Lovely Eyes away;

(Yet do not, for I die unleſs they ſtay.)

I faint, I faint; alas! no Mortal yet,

With eyes undazled half this Splendor met:

But ſure I cannot ſink, upheld by Thee;

So would I reſt unto Eternity.

And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make

The leaſt diſturbance, till my Love awake,


What Charming Voice is that Salutes my Ear?

It muſt be my Beloved’s; he is near:

He is, and yet unfriendly ſtays without:

He ſtays, as if he did a Wellcome doubt.

But C5r 41

But hark, methinks I hear him ſoftly ſay;

Ariſe my Fair, ariſe, and come away!

For loe the Stormy Winter’s paſt and gone;

And Summer, Dreſt in all her Pride, comes on:

The Warbling Birds in Airy Raptures Sing

Their glad Pindaricks to the Wellcome-Spring:

The Fig-Trees ſprout, the Chearful Vines look Gay;

Ariſe my Lovely Fair, and come away!

Come Forth, my Dove, my Charming Innocence;

How canſt thou Fear while I am thy Defence?


Do thou the Spightful Foxes then Deſtroy,

That would my Young Aſpiring Vines Annoy.

Not for the World would I exchange my Bliſs,

While my Beloved’s Mine, and I am His.

And till the break of that Eternal Day,

Whoſe Riſing Sun ſhall chaſe the Shades away;

Turn, my Beloved, turn again; and thy

Dear ſight ſhall make the lazy Moments fly.

Chap. C5v 42

Chap. III.

Twas in the deadneſs of a Gloomy Night,

My Love, more pleaſant than the wiſht- for Light,

O’re all my Bed I vainly ſought; for there

My Arms could Graſp no more than empty air:

Griev’d with my Loſs, through all the ſtreets I rove,

And every Ear with ſoft Complaints I move:

Then to the Watch, Impatient, thus I Cry;

Tell me, O tell! Did not my Love paſs by?

When loe, a Glimpſe of my approaching Lord,

A Heaven of Joy did to my Soul afford:

So the dark Souls confin’d to endleſs Night,

Would ſmile, and wellcome-in a beam of Light.

I Claſpt him, juſt as meeting Lovers wou’d,

That had the ſtings of Abſence underſtood:

I held him faſt, and Centring in his Breaſt,

My raviſh’d Soul found her deſired Reſt.

Him C6r 43

Him to my Mothers Houſe I did convey;

Humble it was, and yet he deign’d to ſtay.

And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make

The leaſt diſturbance, till my Love awake.


Glorious as Titan, from the Eaſtern Seas

A Beauty comes from yon dark Wilderneſs:

So Sacred Incenſe proudly riſes up

In cloudy Pillars of perfumed ſmoak:

Compounded Spices of the greateſt coſt

Could ne’r ſuch Aromatick ſweetneſs boaſt.


The Shining Courts of Princely Solomon

Were nobly crowded with a Warlike Train:

All Arm’d compleatly, all Expert in Fight,

To Guard him from the Terrors of the Night.

A Chariot Royal too himſelf he had;

Its Pillars of refined Silver made:

The C6v 44

The Seats of Gold, fair Purple Clouds above;

And, all the bottom, ſoftly pav’d with Love.

But loe, a Prince then Solomon, more great;

On whom vaſt Troops of ſhining Angels wait:

His Crown more bright, and fixt, than that which ſhone

Upon the Nuptial brows of Solomon.

Chap. IV.


Tho all the lower World ſhould ranſackt be,

There could be found no parallel for thee:

Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,

Curl’d, and ſoft as Gileads Milky Flocks:

Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for ſo

Unſully’d from the Christal Streams they go.

But oh! To what may I thy Lips compare?

Since fragrant Roſes Bloom not half ſo fair.

The C7r 45

The Morning ne’r with ſuch a Crimſon bluſht,

When from the Arms of ſooty Night ſhe ruſht.

The ripe Pomegranates Scarlets are but faint,

To thoſe freſh Beauties that thy Cheeks do paint.

Thy Neck and Breaſts, in Whiteneſs, do out-goe

Ungather’d Lillies, or deſcending Snow.

And till the dawn of that expected Day,

When all my Radiant Glories I diſplay,

And Chaſe, at once the Injurious Shades away:

I’ll on the Hills of Frankincenſe reſide,

And paſs the time with thee my Charming Bride;

My Love, in whom ſuch vaſt perfections meet,

As renders her tranſcendently compleat:

Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouſe,

O come, and look beyond this Scene of woes:

Thou may’ſt, and yet it is but darkly, ſee

The bright abodes I have prepar’d for thee:

So ſweet ſhe looks, that in bleſt Tranſports I,

Meet the believing glances of her eye;

My C7v 46

My All on Earth, my Siſter, and my Spouſe;

Whom, from a Vaſt Eternity I choſe:

Not Golden Goblets, Crown’d with noble Wine

E’re gave ſuch Elevating Joys as Thine;

Such, as the ſoft expreſſions of thy Love;

So much thoſe dear, thoſe charming accents move.

My Love is like a Flowry Manſion Wall’d,

Or ſome reſerved Chryſtal Fountain ſeal’d;

Whoſe Waves, untouch’t, through ſecret Channels ſlide,

Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide

From Heaven, aſſaulting Lebanon; and fair,

As Beauteous Edens Gilded Currents were.


Were I a Garden, every Flower in me

Should proudly yield their conſcious Sweets to thee,

The ruddy fruits ſhould thy arrival greet,

And Smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.

Bridegroom. C8r 47


So ſtrongly thy kind Invitations move,

I will my Garden ſee, my Garden, and my Love.

Not Hybla’s Hives ſuch precious Sweets can yield,

Nor Cluſters brought from rich Engady’s Field,

Which, to my lips, I’ll raiſe with eager haſt;

My Lips that long’d the Heavenly Fruit to taſt.

Chap. V.

The Night her blackeſt Vestments had put on,

And all the fair remains of day were gone:

When my dear Lord, as he had oft before,

With Speed and Love approach’d the bolted Door:

Ariſe, my Love, he cries, and with a Voice,

Divinely charming, pleads his entrance thus;

My Spouſe, my Siſter, and my faireſt Love,

(Believing, ſure, that Dialect would move;)

Ariſe, C8v 48

Ariſe, for loaden with the Midnight Dew,

Diſorder’d, all my ſtreaming Treſſes flew:

I knew the Voice, the moving Eloquence;

But ah! deluded by my drowſie ſence;

Careleſs, and Soft, upon a Moſſy Bed,

I lean’d Supine, with Odorous Roſes ſpread;

And long, with weak Excuſes, did delay,

Amazing him at my unwonted ſtay.

Mov’d, with his Patience, my relenting Breaſt,

Forgetting now to ſay, I am Undreſt.

Unto the Door, at length, I ruſht, in ſpite

Of Darkneſs, and the Terrors of the Night;

With Rage, to break the guilty Bars I try’d,

Which Entrance to my Lord ſo long deny’d:

But found the dear reſenting Charmer fled,

I curs’d my Sloth, and curs’d my conſcious Bed.

Yet ſuch a fragrant Sweetneſs fill’d the Air

From his dear Hands, I thought he had ſtill been there.

I D1r 49

I call’d aloud, ſtill hoping he was near,

And louder ſtill , but Ah! he wou’d not hear.

Then thro’ the Streets, diſtracted with my Grief

I wildly roving, begg’d of all, relief.

At laſt I met th’ungentle Watch, and they

Deride my Tears, and force my Veil away.

Ye tender Virgins! you that know the pain

A Breaſt ſo ſoft as mine muſt needs ſuſtain,

Robb’d of the once kind Partner of my Fires,

And ſtill dear Object of my rackt deſires;

I charge you, if you meet my abſent Love,

With all the Rhetorick of our Sex, to move

His deafn’d Ears; and tell him, with a Sigh,

Deep as my Wounds, ah tell him how I dy.

—Perhaps that Tragick Word may force the dear

Relentleſs Author of my Grief to hear.

D Daughters.] D1v 50

Daughters of Jeruſalem.

What thy Beloved is, we firſt wou’d know,

Faireſt of Women! thou doſt charge us ſo.

What Charms unequal’d in him doſt thou ſee,

Impatient Fair! to raiſe theſe Storms in thee?


Commencing all Perfection, he is ſuch

Your moſt exalted Thoughts can hardly touch,

Unſully’d heaps of Snow are not ſo white,

He’s Fairer than condenſed Beams of Light.

His Roſy Cheeks of ſuch a lucent Dy,

As Sol ne’re gilded on the morning Sky.

His Head like poliſh’d Gold, his graceful Hair,

Dark as the Plumes that jetty Ravens wear.

His D2r 51

His Eyes, the endleſs Magazines of Love,

How ſoft! how ſweet! how powerfully they move!

He breathes more ſweetneſs than the Infant Morn,

When Heavenly Dews the Flowry Plains Adorn.

The Fragrant Drops of Rich Arabian Gums

Burnt on the Altar, yield not ſuch Perfumes.

His Hands, ſurpaſſing Lillies, grac’d with Gems,

Fit to Enrich Cœleſtial Diadems.

His Breaſt ſmooth Ivory, Enamel’d all

With Veins, which Saphirs ’twere unjuſt to call.

Divine his Steps, with his Majeſtick Air.

Not ev’n the Lofty Cedars can compare.

So ſweet his Voice, the liſtning Angels throng

With ſilent Harps to th’ Muſick of his Tongue,

—He’s altogether—Lovely, This is He,

Now, Virgins! Pity, tho’ you envy Me.

D2 Chap. D2v 52

Chap. VI.


But where, ah where can this bright wonder be

For, till we ſee Him, we are all on Fire;

We’ll find Him out, or in the ſearch Expire.


If my Prophetick Hopes can rightly gueſs,

The Lovely Wanderer in his Garden is

Among the Lillies, and the Spices; He

Is now perhaps kindly expecting Me;

Oh ’tis a Heaven of Joy to think him Mine.


And who can ſee thoſe Eyes and not be thine?

2 Thy D3r 53

Thy Face, where all the Conquering Graces meet;

Where Majeſty doth Virgin-ſoftneſs greet:

Ah turn away thoſe Fair Approachleſs Eyes;

I Love, but cannot bear the kind Surprize.

Hide, hide the intangling glories of thy Hair;

More bright than Streams of Fluid Silver are:

Expoſe no more thy Pearly Teeth, the while

Thoſe Roſie Cheeks put on kind looks and ſmile:

Such genuine charmes, how ſtrongly they allure

My Soul, and all their rivalls beams obſcure.

They’r numberleſs, my Spouſe, my Darling Fair;

But one, the Choice, and all her Mother bare.

The Royal Beauties ſaw, and bleſt the Sight;

And Setting, wonder’d at a Star ſo Bright.

Who is’t, they ſay, Fair as the breaking Morn,

When ruddy beams the baſhful Skys adorn?

D3 Clear D3v 54

Clear as the Lamp that Gilds the Sable Night;

Dazling as Sols unſufferable Light:

Gentle, but awfull, as a Scene of War;

At once her Graces conquer and Indear.

And couldſt thou think, my Love, I e’re deſign’d

To leave a Spouſe ſo Beautiful and Kind?

I went but down into the Almond-grove,

A Lone-receſs, indulgent to my Love;

Thence rang’d the pleaſant Vale, whoſe Spreading Vine

May quit my care perhaps with Bounteous Wine:

Where the Pomgranets Blooming-Fruits diſ play

More Sanguine-Colours then the Wings of Day:

Or D4r 55

O e’re I was aware, my happy Eyes

Met Thee, a Juſter Object of ſurprize;

Fair as a Viſion breaking from the Skyes:

Scarce could my Breaſt my leaping heart retain;

Scarce could my Soul the unweildy Joy ſuſtain,

When I beheld thoſe Wellcome Eyes again.

But why that Diſcontent upon thy Brow?

Thou wilt not leave me, Cruel Beauty, now!

Injurious Charmer, ſtay—What needs this Art,

To try the Faith of a Too-conſtant heart:

Return again; let my Companions ſee

The Sweet Inſpirer of my Flames in Thee.

Return, my Dear, return, and ſhew the moſt

Victorious Face that e’re the World could boaſt.

D4 The D4v 56

The Fable of Phaeton

Paraphraſed From Ovid’s Metamorphosis.

With ſwelling thoughts fixt on his great intent,

Now Phaeton had climb’d the Suns aſcent;

And to his radiant Father’s Pallace came;

Whoſe heavenly ſeat lookt blazon’d all with flame:

On Stately Pedeſtalls erected high

Above the Convex of the utmoſt Sky:

Its Glorious Front, dazled, yet pleas’d the ſight,

With vigorous ſallys of Æthereal Light.

The entrance, all divinely deckt, was wrought,

Beyond the invention of a humane thought;

With D5r 57

With various figures exquiſite and bold,

As the Amazing Novelties they told.

Here awful Neptune riſes from the deep,

Around the peaceful Billows ſeem to ſleep:

Here dreadful Whales the Bluſt’ring Tritons ſtride,

And raiſe a Silver Tempeſt as they glide:

In mighty ſhells the lovely Nereids ſwim,

And blewiſh gods the lofty billows climb.

Wide from the Shore a pleaſant ſcene of Land,

With careleſs Beauty did it ſelf expand:

Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred Groves,

Flocks, Herds, Unpoliſh’d Shepherds, and their Loves;

The Dryads, Satyrs, Silver Gods, and Fawns,

Had here their Rural Pallaces and Lawns.

Above D5v 58

Above all this, appear’d the bleſt abodes,

And gay Pavilions of th’Immortal Gods:

Upon a Painted-Zodiack brightly ſhone

With Glittering Emralds Sols refulgent Throne:

Here ſate in Purple the Bright God of Day,

(Whom Phaeton now trembles to ſurvey:)

Smooth were his Cheeks, moſt lovely eyes, his brows

Adorn’d with rays, and his own ſacred boughs:

Around, the days, the months, and years attend,

While, at his feet, the crooked Ages bend:

The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the reſt,)

Stood ſmiling by, clad in a Flowry Veſt:

Summer, with Ears of Corn, her temples bound,

And Autumn with Luxuriant Cluſters crown’d:

In order next old hoary-Winter ſtood;

His Aſpect horrid, and congeal’d his blood.

Surrounded D6r 59

Surrounded thus with Majeſty and State,

Bold Phaeton’s Illuſtrious Father ſate:

The God his ventrous Off-ſpring now eſpyes;

Amaz’d! demands, What urg’d his enterprize?

And what great Embaſſy cou’d bring him to the Skies?

Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns,

Whoſe abſence Life it ſelf and Nature mourns:

Moſt ſplendid Ruler of the wellcome Day,

Sereneſt Spring of all that’s fair and gay――

If bolder I may ſpeak――if e’re――if e’re

The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear;

――Then grant a certain ſign, that may on Earth

Reſolve the queſtion’d grandeur of my Birth,

My beſt-lov’d-Son, great Phœbus made Reply,

(And back he caſts the radiant Energy

Of his thick beams) my Phaeton draw Nigh:

And D6v 60

And doubt no longer my Paternal rights;

For, by my Clymene, by th’ Intenſe delights

That gave thee Birth, ſo――now chuſe a ſign,

And by the Dark Infernal Lake ’tis thine.

Straight the ambitious youth demands the ſway

Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day.

Amaz’d the lucent Deity ſhook his head,

Revolving his Tremendous Oath, and ſaid;

Unthinking Phaeton what doſt thou ask?

Not Jove himſelf durſt undertake the Task:

Though not a God in the Blew-Arch more great,

Yet even he’d decline our Flaming Seat.

Can’ſt thou, a Mortal, then ſupply my Throne?

Curb my fierce Steeds, and paſs the Intemperate Zone?

So hard and difficult, the aſcent of day

Scarce with freſh Horſes vanquiſh I the way:

With D7r 61

With horror, on the diſtant Earth at Noon,

We from the Zenith’s diſmal heighth look down

The ſteep Deſcent; from thence we ſwiftly roul:

Nor here our headlong Courſers Brook controul.

Even Lovely Thetis ſees my Fall with dread,

Though every Night ſhe expects me to her Bed.

Beſides, thou’lt meet a Thouſand rugged Jarrs

From the incountring Motions of the Stars;

Scarce our Immortal Efforts ſtem their force:

Betwixt the Bulls ſharp hornes then lies thy courſe,

By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion’s Claws,

The Gaſtly Crab, and Leo’s dreadful Jaws.

Expect no Groves, nor Flowry Manſions there,

Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monſters every where,

Then D7v 62

Then let a Father’s timely Care perſwade,

And yet retract the dangerous Choice thou’ſt made

Be wiſe, and urge no more this fatal Sign;

Alas, my Grief, too ſadly, ſpeaks thee Mine.

Of all the Earths, or Seas rich Boſoms hide,

Or Treaſures which in upper Air abide;

Ask what thou wilt, or dar’ſt (beſides) to wiſh;

Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but this;

And, by my former Sacred Oath, ’tis thine.

But the hot Youth, fixt on his raſh deſign,

With ſuch an Enterprize, the more inflam’d

His anxious Father’s Oath, now boldly claim’d,

Who forc’d to yield. The nimble hours ſoon brought

His Chariot forth in hot Veſuvio wrought,

By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art,

Who’d ſhown immortal skill in every part:

The D8r 63

The Wheels, and Axeltree, the pureſt Gold,

Bright as thoſe Lucid Tracts in which they roul’d:

The Harneſs all Emboſs’d with Cryſolites,

And twinkling ſparks of wondrous colour’d Lights.

But now Aurora from her Eaſtern Bed,

Had, o’er the Expanſe her Dewy Mantle ſpread:

The Sickly Moon the Hemiſphere reſigns;

And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines.

The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy ſtill,

And Sol officious now againſt his will:

With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays,

Then crowns the Joyful Hero with his Rays:

With tender Speeches caution’d thus the while,

Let not Preſumption thy Fond Thoughts beguile

To give my hot unruly Steeds their courſe,

But uſe the Reins, with utmoſt care and force,

Along D8v 64

Along a beaten, broad, and oblique way,

Far from the Poles, now likes the Road of Day.

Avoid the Altar, and the hiſſing Snake,

Both oppoſite, betwixt them keep the Track;

Obſerve a careful diſtance from the Skyes,

Leſt thou affront the awful Deities;

Nor near the Earth approach, the mean is beſt;

To Deſtiny with hope I leave the reſt.

For, loe the pale Commandreſs of the Night

Reſigns her Empire to th’ expected Light.

Take up the Reins; or yet, or yet be wiſe,

And graſp a more proportion’d enterprize:

But Phaeton, as reſolute as great,

Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat;

Pleas’d with his glorious charge, nor doubts his Skill

To manage it, he Mounts th’ Olympick Hill.

Aloud E1r 65

Aloud th’ Immortal Steeds begin to Neigh,

And ſtrike their Fiery Hoofs, and make new Day;

As through the clouds they cut their ſparkling way:

And finding now the Reeling Chariot fraught

With nothing congruous to Celeſtial weight;

Unruly grow, and heedleſs of the Rein,

Its feeble Checks, and trembling Guide diſdain;

And, all diſorder’d, careleſs of their way,

Through Paths unknown to Sol himſelf, they ſtray:

Now near the Fair Triones, who, in vain,

Implor’d more Temperate Quarters in the Main

With Heat reviv’d, ſee the fierce Serpent roul,

Tho’ fix’d his Station near the Frozen Pole.

Bootes ſweats, and drives his Lazy Team

A nimble pace, untry’d before by them.

E As E1v 66

As much diſtreſs’d, unhappy Phaeton

From Great Olympus arched Top looks down:

Black horror now, and aggravating fear,

Through all his Conſcious thoughts triumphant were:

He Curſt his Pride, conſpicuous Seat, and Birth,

And covets the obſcureſt place on Earth;

To be the Son of Meropes, ſafe below,

Unknown to Gods and Men, would pleaſe him now:

So, all confus’d, the hopeleſs Pilot Raves,

And yields, at laſt, to the relentleſs Waves.

What can he do? much of the Glowing Eaſt

Is yet Unconquer’d; more he dreads the Weſt,

That dangerous Fall; nor one clear Track can fin’d

In Heaven; nor call his Horſes Names to mind:

Who now near where the dreadful Scorpion lay,

Hurryd the ſhatter’d Chariot of the Day:

Proud E2r 67

Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling hands

Now faintly drop, no obſtacle withſtands

Their furious courſe; but through the blazing Sky

They foam, and rave, and all diſorder’d fly.

Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend,

Then down agen the frightful Steeps deſcend:

Below, her own Diana from afar,

With wonder, views her radiant Brothers Car:

The exhaled Earth down to its Centre dry,

Wants Juice, her fainting Products to ſupply:

Aſſaulted with the too prevailing rays,

In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains blaze:

High Athos, Oete, and the Pin’y top

Of pleaſant Ida into Cinders drop:

Old Tmolus, the Cicillian Mount, and high

Parnaſſus, ſmoak up to the darkned Sky:

Veſuvio roars, more fierce its entrails glow;

Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now.

E2 Steep E2v 68

Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame

Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can tame.

Caucaſus frys, Dindyma chaps, and burns

Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns.

The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Appenine,

With Oſſa, in the conflagration ſhine:

Surrounded thus with Smoak, and Wrathful Fires,

Unhappy Phaeton almoſt expires:

Deſpair within, and Terror all without,

By’s furious Steeds, at pleaſure, hurl’d about;

Gaſping, and faint, ſtill hurried round, nor more,

Tho prop’t by Fate, a Mortal could have bore:

They ſay, the Ethiopians now with heat

Aduſt and ſcorch’t, diffus’d a Sable Sweat;

And all the waſted Fountains ſadly ring

Of ſome fair Nais, Mourning for her Spring.

Nor E3r 69

Nor from the Mightyer Streams the Flame recoils,

For in its Channel antient Tana’is boyls.

Xanthus, whoſe Waves agen that Fate muſt know;

Mænder, whoſe wild Waters, circling flow.

Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the Fair

Euphrates, Torrents, half exhauſted are.

Orontes, Phaſis, and the cooler Stream

Of Sperchius now like boyling Chaldron’s Steam;

Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold,

That in the Rich Pactolus Channel roul’d:

The Muſes Mourn; their Swans, who, as they dye

In Charming Notes, breath their own Elegy:

Deep, in his utmoſt Subterranean Bed,

Great Nilus hides his undiſcover’d Head.

Earth E3v

Earth cracks, to Hell deſcend the hated beams,

And Plague the howling Ghoſts with worſe extreams:

The exhauſted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand;

Nor does vext Neptune one cool Wave command.

He has loſt his ſhare of the grand Monarchy,

And vainly lifts his forked Trident high.

The Lovely Siſters melt upon the Rocks,

While Aged Doris tares her Silver Locks:

The Phocœ dye; the Dolphins vainly dive

In ſcalding ſtreams, to keep themſelves alive.

As much the Goddeſs of the Earth diſtreſt,

With trembling Lips the King of Gods addreſt;

If thou the Groaning World’s Deſtruction mean,

(Incenſed Jove) Why ſleep thy Thunders then?

If E4r 71

If thou the cauſe of this Calamity;

Or if ’tis ſome leſs potent God then thee:

Where’s all thy goodneſs, all thy gentle care

For Mortals now that ſhould theſe Ills repair?

Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed

In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led?

Thoſe Altars, which with thy bright Temples ſmoak,

While Jove, in vain, the gaſping-Priests Invoke:

And loe the Mighty Poles begin to fume;

And, Wher’s thy Starry Seat ſhould they conſume?

Tyr’d Atlas ſweating, of his load complains,

And ſcarce the burning Axletree ſuſtains.

But, fainting here, ſhe ſtop’d, and ſhrinks her head

Below the gloomy Lodgings of the Dead.

Jove calls the Gods (with him, whoſe daring Son,

Too fond of Glory, had this Miſchief done:

To view the dreadful flames; then mounts on high,

The E4v 72

The loftyeſt Turret that commands the Sky;

From whence he us’d to ſhade the ſultry Air,

And with kind Showers the Parched Earth to chear:

But throws his Flood-gates open now in vain,

And preſt the light tranſparent clouds for Rain:

At which incens’d, his ruddy Thunder glows,

Nor durſt the God of beams himſelf oppoſe.

See the wing’d Vengeance now, ſee where it breaks,

On the raſh cauſe of thoſe lamented Wrecks;

And ſends the bold Uſurper breathleſs down

To the ſcorch’t Earth from his affected Throne.

So ſtrike the Gallick Tyrant, that has hurl’d

As guilty flames through the complaining World.

So awful Jove, ſo Strike him from his Seat,

And all his Aims, and all his Hopes defeat.

The Aa1r 1

The Wish, in a Poem to the Athenians.

Wou’d ſome kind Viſion repreſent to me

How bright thy Streets, Celeſtial Salem! be,

I’d trace thy ſhining pearly Paths, and tell

How bleſs’d are thoſe that in thy Temple dwell:

How much more bright than e’re proud Phœbus ſhed

Are thoſe vaſt Rays the Eternal Sun does ſpread!

Cou’d I the chiefeſt of ten thouſands view,

Wou’d Angels me their Admirations ſhew,

Aa I’d Aa1v 2

I’d tell the Virgins, tell ’em o’re agen

How fair he lookt to the black Sons of men.

Might I, but ah, while clogg’d with ſinful Fleſh,

In vain I breath out the impatient Wiſh!

But have a glimpſe of thoſe fair Fields of Bliſs,

Where dreſs’d in Beams, the ſhining Saints do move

More gay then all the fancy’d ſhades of Love:

Where ſtill from pure exhauſtleſs fountains, to

Bright Silver ſtreams the Chryſtal Waters flow;

Where the true Son of Glory ne’re declines,

But with unclouded Vigour always ſhines.

Where endleſs Smiles cœleſtial Faces wear,

No Eye eclips’d with a rebellious Tear,

For Greif is an unheard of Stranger there.

Say then, if ought of that bleſs’d place you know,

Deſcribe its Bliſs, its dazling Glories ſhow!

The Aa2r 3

The Athenians Anſwer.

Ah! Bright Unknown! you know not what you ask!

Angels wou’d bend beneath the unequal Task.

Were that bleſs’d World diſclos’d, ’twou’d ſeem ſo fair,

Who wou’d not leap Lifes Barriers to be there?

Yet ſee a Glimpſe, all, Heav’n permits to ſee,

And learn the reſt from Faith and Extaſie.

The Paradiſe of God, thoſe happy ſeats which coſt

Far more than that fair Eden we have loſt;

Exceeds luxuriant Fancies richeſt dreſs,

And Beggers Rhime and Numbers ſelf t’ expreſs.

―― No, were we loſt in that primæal Grove

Where Father Adam with his New-born Bride

Walkt careleſs, walkt and lov’d, nor Want, nor Sin,

Nor jealous Rage, nor curſt tormenting Hopes

Their Sacred Verge approaching cou’d we pierce

As the blind Bard, with intellectual ſight

Thro’ thoſe firſt happy Mortals Sylvan ſhade,

Aa2 Thro’ Aa2v 4

Thro’ cluſt’ring Vines whoſe ſwelling Purple Grapes

With generous Juice invited the bleſs’d Pair

To taſte, nor fear to dye; were all the Springs

That from ſome eaſie Mountains moſſy ſide

Or hoary Rock ran gently murmuring,

A thousand Flour’s upon the bending Banks,

A thouſand Birds upon the fragrant Trees,

And Eve her ſelf all ſmiling joyn’d the Quire,

With bliſsful Hymns of chaſt and holy Love

Were theſe and more united to compoſe

A Poets Heaven to the true Heaven ’twou’d be

A Barren Wilderneſs, nay worſe, a World.

Not Reaſons ſelf, a Ray of the divine

Off-ſpring, and Friend of God, when manacled

In ſinful mortal mold, altho it trace,

No Siſter Truth thro’ each Dedalean maze,

And builds on Senſe with well poiz’d Argument,

Not that can tell us what we there ſhall ſee,

Or have or know, or do, or ever be.

Nay tho’ with nobler Faiths more perfect Glaſs,

We Aa3r 5

We look beyond the Chriſtal ſtarry Worlds,

We know but part, ſunk in our darkſom ſelves,

And from Life’s dungeon wiſh the glim’ring Light,

Coaſters of Heav’n we beat along the ſhore,

Some Creeks and Landmarks found, but know no more.

The Inland Country’s undiſcoverd ſtill,

The glorious City of th’eternal King,

Yet of cœſtial Growth we bear away,

Some rich immortal Fruit, Joy, Peace and Love,

Knowledge and Praiſe, Viſion and pure Delight,

Rivers of Bliſs, ay-dwelling from the Throne

Of the moſt high, exhauſtleſs Fund of Light.

There, there is Heav’n, ’tis he who makes it ſo,

The Soul can hold no more, for God is all,

He only equalls its capacious Graſp,

He only o’re fills to ſpaces infinite,

Ah! who can follow?—That ſhall only thoſe

Who with intrepid Breaſts the World oppoſe.

Tear out the glitt’ring Snake, tho’ ne’re ſo cloſe it twine,

And part with mortal Joys for Joys Divine.

Aa3 To Aa3v 6

To one that perſwades me to leave the Muſes.

Forgo the charming Muſes! No, in ſpight

Of your ill-natur’d Prophecy I’ll write,

And for the future paint my thoughts at large,

I waſte no paper at the Hunderds charge:

I rob no Neighbouring Geeſe of Quills, nor ſlink

For a collection to the Church for ink:

Beſides my Muſe is the moſt gentle thing

That ever yet made an attempt to ſing:

I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops,

Nor ſet the married world an edge for Ropes;

Yet I’m ſo ſcurvily inclin’d to Rhiming,

That undeſign’d my thoughts burſt out a chiming;

My active Genius will by no means ſleep,

And let it then its proper channel keep.

I’ve told you, and you may believe me too,

That I muſt this, or greater miſchiefe do;

And Aa4r 7

And let the world think me inſpir’d, or mad,

I’le ſurely write whilſt paper’s to be had;

Since Heaven to me has a Retreat aſſignd,

That would inſpire a leſs harmonious mind.

All that a Poet loves I have in view,

Delightſome Hills, refreſhing Shades, and pleaſant Valleys too,

Fair ſpreading Valleys cloath’d with laſting green,

And Sunny Banks with gilded ſtreams between,

Gay as Eliſium, in a Lovers Dream,

Or Floras Manſion, ſeated by a ſtream,

Where free from ſullen cares I live at eaſe,

Indulge my Muſe, and wiſhes, as I pleaſe,

Exempt from all that looks like want or ſtrife,

I ſmoothly glide along the Plains of Life,

Thus Fate conſpires, and what can I do to’t?

Beſides, I am veh’mently in love to boot,

And that theres not a Willow Sprig but knows,

In whoſe ſad ſhade I breathe my direful woes.

But why for theſe dull Reaſons do I pauſe,

When I’ve at hand my genuine one, becauſe!

Aa4 And Aa4v 8

And that my Muſe may take no counter Spell,

I fairly bid the Boarding Schools farewel:

No Young Impertinent, ſhall here intrude,

And vex me from this blisful ſolitude.

Spite of her heart, Old Puſs ſhall damn no more

Great Sedley’s Plays, and never look ’em o’re:

Affront my Novels, no, nor in a Rage,

Force Drydens lofty Products from the Stage,

Whilſt all the reſt of the melodious crew,

With the whole Syſtem of Athenians too,

For Study’s ſake out of the Window flew.

But I’to church, ſhall fill her Train no more,

And walk as if I ſsojurn’d by the hour.

To Stepwel and his Kit I bid adieu,

Fall off, and on, be hang’d and Coopee too

Thy ſelf for me, my dancing days are o’re;

I’le act th’inſpired Bachannels no more.

Eight Notes muſt for another Treble look,

In Burleſque to make Faces by the book.

Japan Aa5r 9

Japan, and my eſteemed Pencil too,

And pretty Cupid, in the Glaſs adieu,

And ſince the deareſt friends that be muſt part,

Old Governeſs farewell with all my heart.

Now welcome all ye peaceful Shades and Springs,

And welcome all the inſpiring tender things;

That pleaſe my genius, ſuit my make and years,

Unburden’d yet with all but lovers cares.

A Poem Occaſioned by the report of the Queens Death.

When fame had blown among the Weſtern ſwains,

The ſaddeſt news that ever reacht their Plains,

Like Thunder in my ears the ſound did break;

The killing accents which I dare not ſpeak.

Leſs was I toucht with that pernicious Dart,

That peirc’d through mine to reach my Daphnes Heart,

From Aa5v 10

From off my Head the Florid wreath I tore,

That I, to pleaſe the fond Oreſtes, wore;

And quite o’re charg’d with Grief upon the ground,

I ſunk my Brows, with mournful Cypreſs Crown’d;

My trembling Hand ſuſtain’d my drooping Head,

And at my feet my Lire and Songs were laid;

’Twas in a gloomy Shade, where o’re and o’re

I’de mourn’d my Lov’d Companions loſs before;

But now I vainly ſtrove my Thoughts t’expoſe,

In Numbers kind, and ſenſible as thoſe

For, ah! the Potent ills that fill’d my Breaſt,

Were much to vaſt and black to be expreſt

Pharaphraſe on John 21. 17.

Yes, thou that knoweſt all, doſt know I love thee,

And that I ſet no Idol up above thee,

To thy unerring cenſure I appael,

And thou that knoweſt all things, ſure canſt tell,

I Love thee more then Life or Interest,

Nor haſt thou any Rival in my Breaſt;

I Love Aa6r 11

I Love thee ſo, that I would calmly bear

The Mocks of Fools, and bleſs my happy Ear

Let me from thee but one kind whiſper hear;

I Love thee ſo, that for a ſmile of thine,

Might this, and all the brighter Worlds be mine,

I would not pauſe, but with a noble Scorn,

At the unequal ſlighted offer ſpurn;

Yes, I to Fools theſe trifles can reſign,

Nor envy them the World, whilſt thou art mine;

I love thee as my Centre, and can find

No Point but thee to ſtay my doubtful mind;

Potent and uncontroul’d its Motions were,

Till fixt in thee its only congruous Sphere.

Urg’d with a thouſand ſpecious Baits, I ſtood,

Diſpleas’d, and ſighing for ſome diſtant good,

To calm its genuine Dictates――but betwixt

Them all, remain’d ſuſpended and unfixt.

I love thee ſo, ’tis more than Death to be,

My Life, my Love, my all, depriv’d of thee;

’Tis Aa6v 12

’Tis Hell, ’tis Horror, ſhades and darkneſs then,

Till thou unveil’ſt thy Heavenly Face agen;

I Love thee ſo, I’de kiſs the Dart ſhould free

My flutterring Soul, and ſend her up to thee;

O would’ſt thou break her Chain, with what delight

She’d ſpread her Wings, and bid the world goodnight.

Scarce for my bright conductors would I ſtay,

But lead thy flaming Miniſters the way,

In their known paſſage to eternal day.

And yet the Climes of Light would not ſeem fair,

Unleſs I met my bright Redeemer there;

Unleſs I ſaw my Shining Saviours Face,

And cop’t all Heaven in his ſweet embrace.

A Aa7r 13

Paraphraſe on Cant. 5. 6. &c.

Oh! How his Pointed Language, like a Dart,

Sticks to the ſofteſt Fibres of my Heart,

Quite through my Soul the charming Accents ſlide,

That from his Life inſpiring Portals glide;

And whilſt I the inchanting ſound admire,

My melting Vitals in a Trance expire.

Oh Son of Venus, Mourn thy baffled Arts,

For I defye the proudeſt of thy Darts:

Undazled now, I thy weak Taper View,

And find no fatal influence accrue;

Nor would fond Child thy feebler Lamp appear,

Should my bright Sun deign to approach more near;

Canſt thou his Rival then pretend to prove?

Thou a falſe Idol, he the God of Love;

Lovely beyond Conception, he is all

Reaſon, or Fancy amiable call,

All Aa7v 14

All that the moſt exerted thoughts can reach,

When ſublimated to its utmoſt ſtreach.

Oh! altogether Charming, why in thee

Do the vain World no Form or Beauty ſee?

Why do they Idolize a duſty clod,

And yet refuſe their Homage to a God?

Why from a beautious flowing Fountain turn,

For the Dead Puddle of a narrow Urn?

Oh Carnal Madneſs! ſure we falſly call

So dull a thing as man is, rational;

Alas, my ſhining Love, what can there be

On Earth ſo ſplendid to out-glitter thee?

In whom the brightneſs of a God-head Shines,

With all its lovely and endearing Lines;

Thee with whoſe ſight Mortallity once bleſt,

Would throw off its dark Veil to be poſſeſt;

Then altogether Lovely, why in thee

Do the vain World no Form or Beauty ſee.

A Aa8r 15

A Pindarick, to the Athenian Society.


Ive toucht each ſtring, each muſe I have invok’t,

Yet ſtill the mighty theam,

Copes my unequal praiſe;

Perhaps, the God of Numbers is provok’t.

I graſp a Subject fit for none but him,

Or Drydens ſweeter lays;

Dryden! A name I ne’re could yet rehearſe,

But ſtraight my thoughts were all transformed to verſe.


And now methinks I riſe;

But ſtill the lofty Subject baulks my flight,

And ſtill my muſe deſpairs to do great Athens right;

Yet takes the Zealous Tribute which I bring,

The early products of a Female muſe;

Untill the God, into my breaſt ſhall mightier thoughts infuſe.

When Aa8v 16

When I with more Command, and prouder voice ſhall ſing;

But how ſhall I deſcribe the matchleſs men?

I’m loſt in the bright labirinth agen.


When the lewd age, as ignorant as accurſt,

Arriv’d in vice and error to the worſt,

And like Aſtrea baniſht from the ſtage,

Virtue and Truth were ready ſtretcht for flight;

Their numerous foes,

Scarce one of eithers Champions ventur’d to oppoſe;

Scarce one brave mind, durſt openly engage,

To do them right.

Till prompted with a generous rage;

You cop’t with all th’ abuſes of the age;

Uunmaskt and challeng’d its abhorred crimes,

Nor fear’d to laſh the darling vices of the times.


Succeſsfully go on,

T’ inform and bleſs mankind as you’ve begun,

Till Bb1r 17

Till like your ſelves they ſee;

The frantick world’s imagin’d Joys to be,

Unmanly, ſenſual and effeminate,

Till they with ſuch exalted thoughts poſſeſt;

As you’ve inſpir’d into my willing Breaſt,

Are charm’d, like me, from the impending fate.


For ah! Forgive me Heaven, I bluſh to ſay’t,

I with the vulgar world thought Irreligion great,

Tho fine my breeding, and my Notions high;

Tho train’d in the bright tracts of ſtricteſt piety,

I’ like my ſplendid tempters ſoon grew vain,

And laid my ſlighted innocence a ſide;

Yet oft my nobler thoughts I have bely’d,

And to be ill was even reduc’d to feign.


Untill by you,

With more Heroick ſentiments inſpir’d,

I turn’d and ſtood the vigorous torrent too,

Bb And Bb1v 18

And at my former weak retreat admir’d;

So much was I by your example fir’d,

So much the heavenly form did win:

Which to my eyes you’d painted virtue in.


Oh, could my verſe;

With equal flights, to after times rehearſe,

Your fame: It ſhould as bright and Deathleſs be;

As that immortal flame you’ve rais’d in me.

A flame which time:

And Death it ſelf, wants power to controul,

Not more ſublime,

Is the divine compoſure of my Soul;

A friendſhip ſo exalted and immenſe,

A female breaſt did ne’re before commence.

Para Bb2r 19

Paraphraſe on Revel. chap. 1. from v. 13. to v. 18.


Who could, and yet out-live the Amaſing ſight!

Oh, who could ſtand the ſtreſs of ſo much Light!

Amidſt the Golden Lamps the Viſion ſtood,

Form’d like a Man, with all the awe and luſtre of a God.


A Kingly Veſtre cloath’d him to the ground,

And Radiant Gold his ſacred breaſts ſurround;

But all too thin the Deity to ſhrow’d;

For heavenly Rays expreſly ſhone through the unable Cloud.


His head, his awful head was grac’d with hair,

As ſoft as ſnow, as melted ſilver fair;

And from his eys ſuch active Glories flow.

The conſcious Seraphs well may veil their dimmer faces too.

Bb2 IV. His Bb2v 20


His Feet were ſtrong and dreadful, as his Port

Worthy the Godlike Form they did ſupport;

His Voice reſembled the Majeſtick Fall

Of mighty Waves: Twas awful, great, divine, and ſolemn all.


His powerful hand a Starry Scepter held,

His mouth a threatning two-edg’d ſword did wield,

His face ſo wondrous, ſo divinely fair,

As all the glorious Lights above had been contracted there.


And now my fainting ſpirits ſtrove in vain

The uncorrected ſplendor to ſuſtain,

Unable longer ſuch bright Rays to meet,

I dy’d beneath the Ponderous Load, at the great Viſion’s Feet.

VII. Till Bb3r 21


Till he that doth the ſprings of Life contain,

Breath’d back my ſoul, and bid me live again;

And thus began (but Oh with ſuch an Air,

That nothing but a power divine had made me live to hear.)


From an unviewable Eternity.

I was, I am, and muſt For ever be:

I have been dead, but live for ever now.

Amen――And have in Triumph let the Kings of Darkneſs too.

To Bb3v 22

To a very Young Gentleman at a Dancing-School.


So when the Queen of Love roſe from the Seas,

Divinely Fair in ſuch a bleſt amaze,

Th’ inamour’d watry Deities did gaze.


As we when charming Flammin did ſurprize,

More heavenly bright our whole Seraglio’s Eyes;

And not a Nymph her Wonder could diſguiſe.


Whilſt with a graceful Pride the lovely boy

Paſs’d all the Ladies (like a Sultan) by,

Only he lookt more abſolute and coy.


When with an Haughty air he did advance,

To lead out ſome tranſported ſhe to dance,

He gave his hand as careleſsly as Chance.

V. Attended Bb4r 23


Attended with a Univerſal ſigh,

On her each Beauty caſt a Jealous Eye,

And quite fall out with guiltleſs Deſtiny.

To the ſame Gentleman.

Ah lay this cruel Artifice aſide,

This barbarous diſtance, and affected Pride;

Or elſe reſign my heart, which is too great

For you in this imperious way to treat.

I know you’r gay and charming as the Spring,

And that I ne’r beheld a lovelier thing,

But know as well the influence of my Eyes,

Nor can you think my heart a vulgar prize.

A Bb4v 24

A Pastoral.


Why ſigh you ſo, What Grievance can annoy,

A Nymph like you? Alas, why ſighs my Joy?

My Philomela, why doſt bend thy Head,

Haſt loſt thy Pipe, or is thy Garland dead?

Thy flocks are fruitful, flowry all thy Plain;

Thy Father’s Darling, why ſhould’ſt thou complain?


Unfriendly thus, when I expect Relief,

To mock the weightier cauſes of my grief.


Thou doſt abuſe my Love: How ſhould I gueſs

The unknown Reaſon of thy Tears, unleſs

Thy Bb5r 25

Thy Birds are fled, or else the Winds have blown,

This ſtormy Night, your talleſt Cypreſs down?

Thy Shepherd’s true, or I had nam’d him firſt.


Ah! were he ſo, I would contemn the reſt.


Why doſt thou fear it? Not a truer Swain

E’re drove his Sheep to this frequented Plain.


Like thee in Ignorance, how bleſt were I?

But Nymph, a falſer thing did never ſigh:

Curſe on his Charms; accurſt the unlucky day,

He ſought by chance his wandred flocks this way;

When gay and careleſs, leaning on my Crook,

My roving Eyes this fatal Captive took,

Well I remember yet with what a grace

The Youthful Conquerer made his firſt addreſs;

How moving, how reſiſtleſs were his ſighs;

How ſoft his Tongue, how very ſoft his Eyes.

When Bb5v 26

When ſpight of all my Natural Diſdain,

I fell a Victim to the ſmiling Swain!

Ah, how much bleſt, how happy had I been,

Had I his lovely killing Eyes ne’re ſeen!

In theſe delightſome Paſtures long I kept

My harmleſs flocks, and as much pleaſure reapt,

In being all I hop’d to be, as they,

Whoſe awful Nods ſubjected Nations ſway.

The Shepherds made it all their care to gain

My heart, which knew no paſſion but diſdain,

Till this Young Swain, the Pride of all our Grove,

Into my ſoul infus’d the bane of Love.

To Bb6r 27

To Celinda.


I Can’t, Celinda, ſay, I love,

But rather I adore,

When with tranſported eyes I view,

Your ſhining merits o’re.


A fame ſo ſpotleſs and ſerene.

A vertue ſo refin’d;

And thoughts as great, as e’re was yet

Graſpt by a female mind.


There love and honour dreſt, in all,

Their genuin charms appear,

And with a pleaſing force at once

They conquer and indear.

IV. Cele- Bb6v 28


Celeſtial flames are ſcarce more bright,

Than thoſe your worth inſpires,

So Angels love and ſo they burn

In juſt ſuch holy fires.


Then let’s my dear Celinda thus

Bleſt in our ſelves contemn

The treacherous and deluding Arts,

Of thoſe baſe things call’d men.

Thoughts on Death.


I’m almoſt to the fatal period. come,

My forward Glaſs has well nigh run its laſt;

E’re a few moments, I ſhall hear that doom

Which ne’re will be recall’d, when once ’tis paſt.

II. Me- Bb7r 29


Methinks I have Eternity in view,

And dread to reach the edges of the ſhore,

Nor doth the proſpect, the leſs diſmal ſhew,

For all the thouſands that have lanch’d before.


Why weep my friends, what is their loſs to mine,

I have but one poor doubtful ſtake to throw,

And with a dying prayer my hopes reſign,

If that be loſt, I’m loſt for ever too.


’Tis not the painful agonies of Death,

Nor all the gloomy horrors of the Grave;

Were that the worſt, unmov’d I’de yield my breath

And with a ſmile the King of Terrors brave.


But there’s an after day, ’tis that I fear:

Oh, who ſhall hide me from that angry brow;

Already I the dreadful accents hear,

Depart from me, and that for ever too.

The Bb7v 30

The Female Paſſion,


A Thouſand great reſolves, as great

As reaſon could inſpire,

I have commenc’d; but ah how ſoon

The daring thoughts expire!


Honour and Pride I’ve often rouz’d,

And bid ’em bravely ſtand,

But e’re my charming foe appears

They cowardly disband.


One dart from his inſulting eyes,

Eyes I’m undone to meet,

Throws all my boaſting faculties

At the lov’d Tyrant’s feet.

IV. In Bb8r 31


In vain alas, ’tis all in vain,

To ſtruggle with my fate,

I’m ſure I ne’re shall ceaſe to love,

How much leſs can I hate!


Againſt relentleſs deſtiny,

Hopeleſs to overcome,

Not Siſiphus more ſadly ſtrives

With his Eternal Doom.

To Strephon.

To me his ſighs, to me are all his vows,

But there’s my hell the depths of all my woes,

We burn alike, but oh the diſtant bliſs,

A view of that my greateſt torment is;

Accurſt Bb8v 32

Accurſt ambition, groveling intereſt,

Such heated crimes as yet did never reſt

Within my Soul, muſt now unjuſtly keep

Me from my Heaven would they may ſink as deep,

As that black Chaos whence they ſprung, and leave

Thoſe mortals wretched which they now deceive.

Paraphraſe on Malachy 3. 14.

In vain ye Murmur, we have ſerv’d the Lord,

As vainly liſtned to his flattering word,

He has forgot, or ſpake not as he meant;

Elſe why are we thus Idly penitent?

Ye call the haughty bleſt, erecting thoſe

That dare my Judgements impiouſly oppoſe,

And own, nay, almoſt boaſt themſelves my foes,

Whoſe crimes would (were I not a God) command

The ſcarlet bolts from my unwilling hand;

Then they that fear’d my great and awful name,

The only few that dar’d oppoſe the ſtream,

Unmov’d Cc1r 33

Unmov’d againſt the vulgar torrent ſtood,

In ſpight of numbers reſolutely good,

Not taxing with undecent inſolence

The dark Enigma’s of my providence.

But ſaw me ſtill illuſtrious through the ſame,

And lov’d and ſpake, ſpake often of my name,

As oft I cloſely liſtned, nor ſhall they

Paſs unrewarded at the laſt great day,

When all their pious ſervices I’ll own,

For in my records I ſhall find ’em down,

Their brows I’ll Crown with wreaths of victory;

Whilſt Men and Angels ſtand ſpectators by;

A loud I’ll then, aloud proclaim them mine,

And ’mongſt my brighteſt treaſures they ſhall ſhine.

Their frailty with more tenderneſs, then e’re

A father did his only ſon’s I’ll ſpare,

And then, but ah! too late you’ll find it then,

Who were the wiſe, the only thinking men;

Then you ſhall nothing but deriſion meet,

Whilſt Angels them with loud applauſes greet.

Cc On Cc1v 34

On Mrs. Rebecka.


So brightly Sweet Florina’s eyes,

Their riſing beams diſplay,

That as the ſcorched Indians, we

Even dread the comeing day.


For if her morning rays with ſuch

Unuſual vigour ſtreams,

How muſt the unhappy world be ſcorcht,

With her meridian beams?


If now ſhe Innocently kills

With an un-aiming dart,

Who ſhall reſiſt her when, with skill,

She levels at a heart?

IV. If Cc2r 35


If with each ſmile the pretty Nymph,

Now captivates the ſence,

What when her glories at the heighth

Will be their influence?

By Diſpair.

When the intruding horrors of the night,

Had juſt depriv’d our hemiſphere of light;

And ſable foldings ſeem’d to imitate,

The blackneſs and confuſion of my fate,

As by a Rivers ſide I walkt along,

Uncurl’d and looſe my artleſs treſſes hung.

Diſpair and love were ſeated in my face,

There to the ſtreams, my mournful griefs relate,

Curſing the ſpightful Stars that rul’d my fate;

Cc2 To Cc2v 36

To ſee my tears the gentle floods ſwell high,

The Rocks relent, and groan as oft as I,

The winds leſs deaf, than my ungreatful Swain,

Liſten and breath o’re all my ſighs again,

Ah, never, never, ſaid I with an Air;

That poor complacent eccho, griev’d to hear,

And ſoftly fearing to increaſe my pain,

No, never, never, ſhe reply’d again,

Then all things else, as trifles I diſpiſe,

Said I, and ſmiling clos’d my wretched eyes.

To Cc3r 37

To Orestes.

To vex thy Soul with theſe unjuſt alarms,

Fye dear miſtruſtful, can’ſt thou doubt thy charms;

Or think a breaſt ſo young and ſoft as mine,

Could e’re reſiſt ſuch charming eyes as thine?

Not love thee! witneſs all ye powers above,

(That know my heart) to what exceſs I love,

How many tender ſighs for thee I’ve ſpent,

I who ne’re knew what ſerious paſſion meant.

Till to revenge his ſlighted Votaries,

The God of love, coucht in thy beauteous eyes,

Cc3 A Cc3v 38

At once inſpir’d and fixt my roving heart,

Which till that moment ſconrrn’d his proudeſt dart.

And now I languiſh out my life for thee,

As others unregarded do for me;

Silent as night, and penſive as a dove,

Through ſhades more gloomy than my thoughts I rove,

With downcaſt eyes as languiſhing an Air,

The Emblem I of Love, and of Diſpair.

The Cc4r 39

The Athenians Anſwer, to the Foregoing Poem.

What Charms to two ſuch Feuds wou’d equal prove?

You are poſſeſt with Poetry and Love.

Fruitleſs experiments no more wee’ll try;

Loſt to advice, Rime on, Love on, and dye!

Cc4 Paraphraſe Cc4v 40

Paraphraſe on Canticles, 7.11.


Come thou moſt charming object of my love,

What’s all this dull Society to us,

Let’s to the peaceful Shades and Springs remove,

I’m here uneaſy tho I linger thus.


What are the triffles that I leave behind,

I’ve more then all the valu’d world in thee,

Where all my Joys and Wiſhes are confin’d,

Thou’rt Day and Life and Heaven it ſelf to me.


Come my beloved then let us away,

To thoſe bleſt Seats where we’ll our flames improve,

With how much heat ſhall I carreſs thee there,

And in ſweet tranſports give up all my love.

Para- Cc5r 41

Paraphraſe on Michaah.6.6,7.


Wherewith ſhall I approach this awful Lord,

What ſhall I bring,

What ſacrifice

Will not ſo great a deity deſpiſe;

Tell me you lofty ſpirits that fall down,

The neareſt to his throne,

Oh tell me how,

Or wherewithal ſhall I before my own, and your

dread maker bow.

Will Camels verdant top afford,

No equal offering,

Ten thouſand rams, a bounteous offering ’tis,

When all the flocks upon a thouſand ſpacious hills are his,

Will Streams of fragrant oil his wrath controul;

Or Cc5v 42

Or the more precious flood,

Of my firſt born’s blood,

Compound for all my debts and make a full Attonement for my Soul.


If not great God what then doſt thou require,

Or what wilt thou daign to accept from me,

All, that my own thou giv’ſt me leave to call,

I willingly again reſign to thee.

My youth and all its blooming heat,

My muſe and every raptur’d thought, to thee I dedicate,

(Tis fit the iſſues of that ſacred fire,

Should to its own celeſtial orb retire)

And all my darling vanities,

For thee I’ll ſacrifice,

My favorite luſt and all,

Among the reſt promiſcuouſly ſhall fall;

Nor more that fond beloved ſin I’ll ſpare,

Than the great Patriarck would have done his heir,

And this great God altho a worthleſs prize,

Is a ſincere, intire, and early ſacrifice.

The Cc6r 43

The Reflection.

Where gilde my thoughts, raſh inclinations stay,

And let me think what ’tis you fool away,

Stay ere it be to late, yet ſtay and take,

A ſhort review of the great prize at ſtake.

Oh! ſtupid folly ’tis eternal Joy,

That I’m about to barter for a toy;

It is my God oh dreadful hazard where,

Shall I again the boundleſs loſs repair!

It is my Soul a Soul that coſt the blood,

And painful agonies of an humbled God,

Oh bleſt occaſion made me ſtay to think,

Ere I was hurri’d off the dangerous brink,

Should I have took the charming venom in,

And cop’d with all theſe terrors for a ſin,

How equal had my condemnation been?

A Song. Cc6v 44

A Song.

He’s gone the bright way that his honour directs him,

Oh all ye kind powers let me beg you protect him.

He’s gone my Dear――and left me here mourning;

But hang theſe dull thoughts, I’le fancy him returning.

Returning, I’le think the great Hero Victorious,

With joy to my Arms as faithful as Glorious.

Againſt his bright Eyes, I am ſure there’s no ſtanding

He looks like a God, and moves as Commanding.

With a Face ſo Angelick the Foe will be charmed,

The Conqueſt were his tho he met ’em diſarm’d.

They Cc7r 45

They could not (be ſure) of a rational nature,

That wou’d not relent at ſo moving a feature.

Venus diſguis’d he’el be thought by his Beauty;

And ſpar’d from the ſenſe of a generous Duty.

Yet when I reflect on the Wounded and Dying,

In ſpight of my Courage it ſets me a ſighing.

But the reſolute brave no danger can ſtay him,

Tho’ I us’d all my Charms and Arts to delay him.

Yet oh ye kind powers you are bound to protect him,

Since he’es gone the bright way that Glory directs him.

To Cc7v 46

To Madam S―― at the Court.


Come prethee leave the Courts

And range the Fields with me;

A thouſand pretty Rural ſports

I’le here invent for thee.


Involv’d in bliſsful innocence

Wee’l ſpend the ſhining day,

Untoucht with that mean influence

The duller world obey.


About the flowry Plains wee’l rove,

As gay and unconfin’d:

As are inſpir’d by thee and love

The ſaleys of my mind.

IV. Now Cc8r 47


Now ſeated by a lovely Stream,

Where beauteous Mermaids haunt;

My Song while William is my Theam,

Shall them and thee inchant.


Then in ſome gentle ſoft retreat;

Secure as Venus Groves,

We’l all the charming things repeat,

That introduuc’d our loves.


I’le pluck freſh Garlands for thy brows,

Sweet as a Zephirs breath.

As fair and well deſign’d as thoſe

The Eliſyum Lovers wreath.


And like thoſe happy Lovers we,

As careleſs and as bleſt;

Shall in each others coverſe be

Of the whole world poſſeſt.

VIII. Then Cc8v 48


Then prethee Phillis leave the Courts,

And range the Fields with me;

Since I ſo many harmleſs ſports

Can here procure for thee.

The Dd1r 49

The Viſion. To Theron.

Now gentle ſleep my willing Eyes had clos’d,

And this gay Scene the ſmiling God impos’d;

Methought I in a Mirtle ſhade was plac’d,

My Treſſes curl’d, my Brows with Laurel grac’d.

Freſh was the Air, ſerenely bright the Day,

And all around lookt raviſhingly Gay,

Active my Thoughts, my Lyre was in my hand,

And once more Theron did my Voice command;

Once more the charming Hero did inſpire

My daring Muſe with an Heroick Fire;

The ſmiling Cupids ſoftly flutter’d round,

Till animated with the generous ſound,

Like fighting Gods, each ſhook his Dart and frown’d.

Dd The Dd1v 50

The liſtning ſtreams inchanted with my Song,

Scarce drove their ſtill preceeding waves along;

Whil’ſt o’re and o’re complaiſant eccho bears,

Through every cavern the immortal Airs;

About my Lips th’impatient Zephirs hung,

To ſnatch the tuneful Numbers from my Tongue;

And the pleas’d Graces crowded round to hear their Darling Sung.

The Queen of Beauty, and her Doves, ſtood by,

When I, to pleaſe the Lovely Deity,

Told her, what Looks, what Eyes, and Smiles he had,

Not her own Charms more fatally betray’d:

At every ſtrain the wounded Goddeſs ſighs,

Strains, ſweet and powerful, as her own fair Eyes.

Then, ſmiling, towards her own bright Orb ſhe flew,

And, with her, all the Sanguine Viſions drew.

A Dd2r 51

A Paſtoral Elegy.


So, gentle Deſtinies, decide the ſtrife;

Ah! ſpare but hers, and take my hated Life.


Ceaſe, ceaſe, dear Nymph, the Fates ordain not ſo.


The more ungentle they; But wilt thou go?


I muſt; and wiſh my Epilogue were done,

That from this tireſome ſtage I may be gone.


Ah me! ah me! this breaks my feeble heart:

But find’ſt thou no Reluctancy to part?

Dd2 Daphne. Dd2v 52


Without the leaſt Reluctance, all below,

Save thee, dear Nymph, I willingly forego:

My Swain, my Mates, my Flocks and Garland too.

In thoſe bleſt ſhades, to which my ſoul muſt flee,

More beauteous Nymphs, and kinder Shepherds be;

Who ne’re reflect on what they left behind,

Rapt with the Joys they in Elyſium find.

By Silver ſtreams, through bliſsful ſhades they rove,

Their Pleaſures to Eternity improve.

There all the Smiling Year is cloth’d with Green;

No Autumn, but Eternal Spring is ſeen.

There Dd3r 53

There the wing’d Choir in Loud and Artful ſtrains

Tranſmit their Eccho’s to the happy Plains:

And thither Strephon will my Soul purſue,

When he, like me, has bid the World adieu.

There, if her Innocence ſhe ſtill retain,

My Philomela I ſhall claſpe again;

And there, when Death ſhall ſtop his Noble Race,

With a more Godlike and Heroick Grace,

Thou ſhalt behold the matchleſs Theron’s Face.

But now farewel, my lateſt Sands are run,

And Charon waits impatient to be gone.

Farewel, poor Earth; from thy unhappy ſhore

None ever launch’d more joyfully before.

Not Death’s Grim Looks affright me, tho ſo near;

Alas! why ſhould the Brave and Vertuous fear.

Dd3 Philomela. Dd3v 54


She’s gone, ſhe’s gone, my dear Companion’s gone,

And left me in this deſert World alone;

Unforc’t, her Beauteous Soul has took its flight,

Serene, and Glittering to Eternal Light,

More blind than Love, or Chance, relentleſs Death,

Why didſt thou ſtop my charming Daphnes Breath?

The beſt, the brav’ſt, and faithful Friend alive;

Fate—cut my Thread, I’ll not the loſs ſurvive.

Alas! Why riſes the unwelcome Sun?

There’s nothing worth our ſight now Daphne’s gone.

Go ſmile on ſome bleſt Clime, where thou’lt not ſee

A loſs ſo vaſt, nor Wretch ſo curſt as me;

Whom Dd4r 55

Whom Grief hath wrapt in ſo condens’d a ſhade,

As thy intruding beams ſhall ne’re invade:

For, What avails thy Light now Daphne’s gone,

And left me Weeping on the Shore alone?

Yet could the Gentle Fair but ſee me mourn,

From that Bleſt Place ſhe would perhaps return.

But vain, alas! are my Complaints; ſhe’s gone,

And left me in this deſert World alone.

For ah! depriv’d my dearer Life of thee,

The World is all a Hermitage to me:

No more together we ſhall ſit or walk,

No more of Pan, or of Elyſium talk:

No more, no more ſhall I the fleeting Day

In kind Endearments ſoftly paſs away:

Dd4 No Dd4v 56

No more the Nobleſt height of Friendſhip prove,

Now Daphne’s gone, I know not who to Love.

Mourn all ye Groves and Streams, mourn every thing,

You’l hear no more the pretty Syren Sing.

Tune, Shepherds, tune your Pipes to Mournful ſtrains;

For we have loſt the Glory of our Plains.

Let every thing a ſadder Look put on;

For Daphne’s dead, for the Lov’d Nymph is gone.

Parthenia, Dd5r 57

Parthenea, an Elegy.

With Singing Angels hence ſhe poſts away,

As Lovely now and excellent as they:

For one ſhort Moment Death’s Grim Looks ſhe bore,

But ne’r ſhall ſee his Gaſtly Viſage more.

Releaſt from her dull Fetters; as the Light,

Active, and Pure, Parthenia takes her flight;

And finds, at laſt, the awfull Secrecy,

How Spirits act, and what they do, and be.

But now ſhe’s ſwallow’d in a flood of Light,

And ſcarce indures the Splendour of the Sight:

Dear Shade, whom Heaven did ſo ſoon remove

From theſe Cold Regions to the Land of Love;

To Dd5v 58

To endleſs Pleaſures, and Eternal day;

How glittering now? How ſatisfy’d and gay

Art thou? methinks I do but half lament

The Lovely Saint from my Embraces rent:

Nor can to thoſe fair Manſions caſt my eyes,

To which ſhe’s fled, and not recall my ſighs.

My grief for her were as unjuſt, as vain,

If from that Bliſs ’twould hurry her again:

For tho’ the Charming’ſt Friend on Earth I’ve loſt,

Yet ſhe the while may the advantage boaſt:

And ſhould her pure unfetter’d Soul but daign

A careleſs glance on theſe dark coaſts again,

’Twould Smile, as Conſcious, where ſhe left her Chain;

And ſmile agen at the ſurprizing odds

Of her late dwelling, and thoſe bright abodes;

Thoſe bright abodes where now, ſecurely bleſt,

She Sings the Anthems of Eternal reſt.

The Dd6r 59

The Reply to Mr. ――;

No: I’m unmov’d: nor can thy charming Muſe

One tender Thought into my Breaſt Infuse.

I am from all thoſe ſenſual motions Free;

And you, in vain, ſpeak pretty things to Me:

For through the Splendid Gallantrys of Love,

Untouch’d, and careleſs, now I wildly rove,

From all th’ Attacques of thoſe proud Darts ſecure,

Whoſe Trifling Force too Tamely you indure;

Nor ought, on Earth’s, ſo delicate to move

My Nicer Spirit, and exact my Love:

Even Theron’s Lovely and Inticeing Eyes,

Tho’ arm’d with flames, I can at laſt deſpiſe;

With all the Genuine charms and Courtly Arts,

By which your Treacherous Sex invade our Hearts:

No Dd6v 60

No more thoſe little Things contract my breaſt

By a Diviner Excellence poſſeſt;

And, ſhould I yield agen, it dear muſt coſt

My Victor e’re he ſhall the Conqueſt Boaſt;

For the Mad Venome’s quite expell’d my Veins,

And calmer Reaſon now Triumphant Reigns:

No more the deareſt object of my ſight

Can move a Soft Senſation of Delight;

Or force my lingring Blood a ſwifter pace,

Or Paint new Smiles and Bluſhes on my Face.

I’ve rent the Charming Idol from my heart,

And baniſht all from thence that took his part.

No more the Smiling Beaux ſhall tempt me on

To Gaze, and Sigh, and think my ſelf undone;

Whilſt Love, like ſome Fierce Torrent unconfin’d,

Breaks in, o’r-ſpreads, and ſwallows up my Mind;

And with its black ungrateful ſtreams controul

All the Diviner Rays within my Soul.

No, Dd7r 61

No, No: I will, I will no more admire,

And urge the Sparks of the now dormant Fire:

Nor for a wild Fantaſtick Extaſy,

Change the Dear Joys of this bleſt Liberty;

Free, as a wandring Zephir, through the Air,

Methinks I range, and hate my former Sphear.

I meet the Nobleſt Forms, yet ſcorn to pay

A Fond Devotion to well-moulded Clay:

Nor would I even for my late ſplendid Chain

Forgo this Charming Liberty again;

Which with ſo ſweet a Calmneſs fill my Breaſt

As cannot be in Words, no not in thine Expreſt.

A Dd7v 62

A Paſtoral on the Queen.


Why (Philomela) ſleep thoſe chearful Strains,

With which ſo much you gratify’d the Plains?

When every murmuring ſtream and pretty ſpring

Of ſome ſoft Tale would ſtop to hear thee Sing

In Notes, that all the Nymphs and Shepherds mov’d;

And Theron too, had he been by, had Lov’d.

But ah! unwellcome Alteration, now

No pleaſant Smile, or Wreath, adorns thy Brow.

About the Plains thy Flocks neglected, ſtray;

And thou, as careleſs and forlorn as they:

In hollow Rocks, and Cypreſs Shades, alone,

Doſt Teach the Mournful Dove a ſadder Mone.

For, all I heard from thee, when liſtning by,

Were broken Notes, of ſome ſad Elegy.

But Dd8r 63

But ſuch a great and unaffected Air

Thy Solitary Lamentations were,

I find, no ſelfiſh Grief, or Intereſt

Cou’d draw thoſe Generous Murmurs from thy Breaſt.

’Tis ſure, the Publick Loſs thou doſt condole;

’Tis that which yet lies preſſing on thy Soul.


’Tis that indeed, our common loſs and care,

Which, in my Breaſt, claims this unvulgar ſhare;

Too ſadly claims it: Oh! the Queen, the Queen

Has left the World: but Heaven! How black a Scene

Her Exit makes it? ―― Oh Illuſtrious Saint!

(By Death, from our moſt warm Careſſes rent;

Could I but ſpeak thy Worth: But that’s a Theme

Too mighty for my boldeſt Thoughts to Stem:

Ev’n my own Grief, I have no words to Paint,

Nor find my Love an Elegant Complaint.

My Dd8v 64

My Lyre it ſelf no more can give me eaſe,

(Nor the ſtrong Tumults of my Soul appeaſe;

Nor more can give my ſwelling Breaſt relief,)

Then Fate reverſe the Subject of my Grief:

’Tis all in vain――

Alaſs! the Royal Shepherdeſs is gone;

And, with her, the Whole Sex’s Glory flown.

Oh! Could not all thoſe Heavenly Virtues Save

Divine Maria from th’ Inſatiate Grave?

Nor her’s, and our Dear Hero’s Moving Tears?

Nor all the poor Lamenting Nations Fears?

No, no; they could not――She reſigns Her Breath;

The Charming Queen a Trophy falls to Death.

A Ee1r 65

A Farewel to Love.

Well, ſince in ſpight of all that Love can do,

The dangerous ſteps of Honour thoul’t purſue,

I’ll juſt grow Wiſe and Philoſophick too:

I’ll bid theſe tender ſilly things Farewel;

And Love, with thy great Antidote, expel:

I’ll tread the ſame Ambitious Paths with thee,

And Glory too ſhall be my Deity.

And now I’ll once releaſe my Train of Fools,

In Sheer good Nature to the Loving Souls;

For Pity’s-ſake at laſt I’ll ſet at rights

The vain conceits of the preſumptuous Wights:

Ee For Ee1v 66

For tho’ I ſhake off Therons Chains, yet he

Is all that e’er deſerv’d a Smile from me.

But he’s unjuſt, and falſe; and I a part

Would not accept, tho’ of a Monarch’s heart.

And therefore flattering hopes, and wiſhes too,

With all Loves ſoft Concomitants, adieu:

No more to its Imperious Yoke I’ll bow;

Pride and Reſentment fortify me now.

My Inclinations are reverſt; nor can

I but abhor the Slavery of Man,

How e’er the empty Lords of Nature boaſt

O’re me, their Fond Prerogative is loſt:

For, Uncontroul’d, I thus reſolve to rove,

And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love:

No more ſuch Wild Fantaſtick things ſhall Charm:

My Breaſt; nor theſe Serener Thoughts Alarm.

No Ee2r 67

No more for Farce; I’ll make a Lover Creep,

And look as Scurvy as if he had bit a Sheep.

Nor with Diſſembled Smiles indulge the Fops,

In pure Revenge to their Audacious hopes;

Tho’ at my Feet a thouſand Victims lay,

I’d proudly ſpurn the Whining Slaves away.

Deaf, as the Winds, or Theron, would I prove,

And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love:

Like bright Diana now I’ll range the Woods,

And haunt the ſilent Shades and ſilver Floods

I’ll find out the Remoteſt Paths I can,

To ſhun th’ Offenſive, Hated Face of Man.

Where I’ll Indulge my Liberty and Bliſs,

And no Endimyon ſhall obtain a Kiſs.

Now Cupid, Mourn; the inlargement of my fate

Thou’ſt loſt a Politician in thy State:

I could have taught thee, hadſt thou loſt thy Arms

To fool the World with more deluſive Charms:

Ee2 I Ee2v 68

I could have made thy Taper burn more bright,

And wing thy Shafts with an unerring flight:

’Twas I directed that ſucceſsful dart,

That found its way to the Great――’s heart:

’Twas I that made the lovely Fl――n bow,

A proud contemner of thy Laws, till now;

I ſung thy Power, and Inſpir’d the Swains,

Or thou hadſt been no Deity on the Plains,

Yet think no more my freedom to ſurpirze,

Which nothing can controul but Theron’s eyes;

And every flattering Smile, and every Grace,

With all the Air of that Bewitching Face,

My Pride and Reſolutions may deface:

For from thoſe eyes for ever I’ll remove,

To ſhun the Sight of what I would not love:

And then, tho every Cyclop ſtretcht his Art,

To form the little angry God a dart,

I’ll yet defy his rage to touch my Heart:

For Ee3r 69

For tho my years compel me to diſdain,

Of the falſe Charmer meanly to complain;

’Tis yet ſome ſatisfaction to my Mind,

I for his ſake abandon all Mankind.

My Prouder Muſe, to love no more a ſlave,

Shall Sing the Guſt, the Fortunate and Brave,

And twine her Promis’d Wreaths for Theron’s Brow,

The Hero, not the faithleſs Lover now.

More Blooming Glories mayſt thou ſtill acquire,

And urge my Breaſt with a more active fire.

May new Succeſſes wait upon thy Sword,

And deathleſs Honour all thy Acts record.

May all thou doſt thy Character compleat;

And, like thy ſelf, be loyal ſtill and great:

Whilſt in an equal Orb as free I move,

And think no more of Hymen, or of Love.




The Young Lady, who is the Author of this Book, Living at a Great Diſtance from London, ’twas Impoſſible She ſhou’d ſee the Sheets as they came from the Press; and is therefore no ways Accountable for the Printer’s Errata’s.


Books lately Printed for John Dunton.

A Ee6r A Ee7v
Books Ee8r

Books now in the Preſs, and Deſign’d for it; Printed for John Dunton.