 | Poems |  |
Mrs. MORTON.
As the sad solemn Eve takes a peep and recedes,The chaste-nurtur'd Morton for tolerance pleads;
But tho' Destiny narrows her simply-wrought feat,
Her will meets the act which is pleasantly neat;
233
Those branches which spread bear the fruit of Duration:
'Tis that lunacy only can grandly offend,
When the exploit and capacity strongly contend.—
—To see Queensbury wedded to Marlboro's sweet daughter,
Or the rough Lord of Effingham sprinkling rose water;
The host of Bath Easton correcting dull sonnets,
Or Lady Page Turner new-darning old bonnets;
Would excite honest Rage to some act of hostility,
To drive such things back—to the paths of utility.—
That such wonders have happen'd, each hour brings witness,
And the sense waxeth wrath, when the talent wants fitness.
| Poems | |