 | The Tragedy of The unhappy Fair Irene |  |
To the hopeful Youth of his much honoured Kinsman, Gilbert Swinhoe, Esq.
Sir, You are Poesy's so early Son,
Our Papers are a Genethliacon:
You else (that it may to the World be showne,
That you were born a Poet) write your own:
Or, as in Greece, the Infant did divide
The Cradle with the Lute couch'd by his side;
That still he might in his unwitting Play
His busie Fingers to the Chords convey:
Until the happy Artifice thus brings
Him to a coy-Repeating of the Strings:
So you were made familiar as soon
With Musick, that thus Element in Tune.
Our Papers are a Genethliacon:
You else (that it may to the World be showne,
That you were born a Poet) write your own:
Or, as in Greece, the Infant did divide
The Cradle with the Lute couch'd by his side;
That still he might in his unwitting Play
His busie Fingers to the Chords convey:
Until the happy Artifice thus brings
Him to a coy-Repeating of the Strings:
So you were made familiar as soon
With Musick, that thus Element in Tune.
On then, auspicious Youth! be farther great!
And verse in all her numbers make compleat;
Until our Laureats (satisfy'd) set down
The humble Homagers unto thy Crown.
And verse in all her numbers make compleat;
Until our Laureats (satisfy'd) set down
The humble Homagers unto thy Crown.
Eldred Revett.
| The Tragedy of The unhappy Fair Irene | |