 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
81. To my vertuous fair Cousin the Lady Trentham.
Madam, I dare not blame this Age, nor callAny vice in it Epidemical:
You are immaculate, and of so high
A vertue, that you awe Impiety.
Your Heart is a pure Heaven, where nothing is
Admitted that can be conceiv'd amiss.
The Poets Flight of vertues I contemn,
And patient flow Astrea's after them:
You are their Sphere of happiness, and do
Entertain all the Goddesses in you.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |