Philomela :: :: University of Virginia Library

Each String I've touch'd, each Muse I have invok'd,
Yet still the mighty Theme,
Copes my unequal Praise;
Perhaps the God of Numbers is provok'd,
I grasp a Subject fit for none but him,
Or Dryden's sweeter Lays:
Dryden! a Name I ne'er could yet rehearse,
But strait my Thoughts were all transform'd to Verse.

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II.

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;
Until the God into my Breast shall mightier Thoughts infuse,
When I with more Command, and prouder Voice shall sing:
But how shall I describe the matchless Men?
I'm lost in the bright Labyrinth agen.

III.

When this lewd Age, as ignorant as accurst,
Arriv'd in Vice and Error to the worst,
And like Astrea, banish'd from the Stage,
Virtue and Truth were ready stretch'd for Flight;
Their num'rous Foes,
Scarce one of either's Champion's ventur'd to oppose;
Scarce one brave Mind, dust openly engage,
To do them Right.

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Till prompted with a gen'rous Rage,
You cop'd with all th' Abuses of the Age;
Unmask'd and challeng'd its abhorred Crimes,
Nor fear'd to lash the Vices of the Times.

IV.

Successfully go on,
T'inform and bless Mankind, as you've begun,
Till like your selves they see,
The frantic 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.

V.

But ah! Forgive me Heav'n, 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,

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I, like my splendid Tempters, soon grew vain,
And laid my slighted Innocence aside;
Yet oft my nobler Thoughts I have bely'd,
And to be ill, was ev'n forc'd to feign.

VI.

Until by You,
With more Heroic Sentiments inspir'd,
I turn'd, and stood the vig'rous Torrent too,
And at my former weak Retreat admir'd;
So much was I by your Example fir'd,
So much the Heav'nly Form did win,
Which to my Eyes you'ad painted Virtue in.

VII.

O! 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.

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A Flame which Time,
And Death itself 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'er before commence.