 | Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose |  |
To Belinda,
upon her receiving the Cross, as Lady Patroness of the High Borlace.
We own the justice that has chosen YouTo grace the Prize to conqu'ring Beauty due;
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Who with Belinda could dispute the field;
But your Borlacians might mistake the hand
That brought the mark of Sovereign command:
To fix it on your breast deserv'd the care
Of One who wants the pity planted there:
The pity Maids so cruelly reveal,
When they lament the wounds they will not heal:
For this, at least (if kinder fate's decree
To that dear office had deputed me)
Your slave had tun'd his tongue, and bent his suppliant knee:
And sure, though wealth and titles claim your heart,
To bear your cross had been your Martyr's part.
| Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose | |