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University of Virginia Library

Poems on Several Occasions

By Mary Masters

Masters, Mary (ca. 1706-ca. 1759)

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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE Earl of BURLINGTON.

The Female Triumph.

AN ANSWER TO A PANEGYRICK,

To Marinda, at Parting.

A Question to Marinda.

On Marinda's Marriage.

The Defense of my self.

Clemene's Character.

The 139th Psalm.

To a Gentleman who questioned my being the Author of the foregoing Verses.

On the Death of Miss Molly Lombe.

To the same, on the Birth of her Son.

To the Sun, in a cold dry Season.

Defence of Myrtillo .

Sent to a Lady with Myrtillo's Poems.

To Clemene, leaving the Country in Autumn.

To Bellaria, looking at Philander, as he counterfeited Sleep in an Alcove.

A Petition to a Steel Thimble, which a Lady usually wore in her Bosom; wrote at the Request of a Gentleman.

To Marinda, on the New-year, being the first Year of her Marriage.

Another on the same.

Upon his late Majesty's going to Sea, in June 1724.

To Myrtillo, desiring him to write a Poem on the Coronation of their present Majesties.

The Heir of Arthington,

To Belinda, a Love Epistle, wrote at the Request of a Gentleman.

Occasion'd by Clemene's refusing a Request.

On the Marriage of Captain C.

To Mrs. Barker of York,

At taking Leave of a Lady, who was reading Norris's Poems.

To a Lady on her Birth-Day.

The 39th Psalm.

The Resolution broke.

To Mrs. Masters, occasion'd by her Resolution to write no more.

The Answer to the foregoing Verses.

Maria in Affliction.

The Consolations of Friendship.

On a White-Rose presented me on the 10th of June. Extempore.

Sent to a Friend on Valentine-day.

On Oriana's Marriage.

To Clemene on her Birth-day.

To Guardian Angels.

On changing my Lodgings.

Emblems of Clemene.

To Mrs. M. E. who gave me a Plaister of her own making, when I had wrench'd my Ancle.

An Answer to Mr. G's Invitation to the Fields and Groves.

Sent to Marinda from the North of England.

An Imitation of a Poem in Dryden's Collections, entitled Anacreontick.

On a Gnat flying about a Candle.

To a Lady going to Church.

Nocturnal Thoughts.

To Clemene on the New Year.

On hearing some Reflections upon a deceas'd Lady.

The 29th Psalm.

To my Infant Niece; her little Sister dying the Instant she was born.

A Journey from Otley to Wakefield.

To Olinda, taken ill with a Fever at the same time that I recover'd of one.

To the same; enquiring why I wept.

On a Nosegay made by Clemene.

To Mr. J. P. on his Marriage.

To Clemene, leaving the Country in a gloomy Day.

To the same weeping.

To a Lady, who ask'd my Opinion of an old Gentleman she design'd to marry.

On seeing a Lady with a new fashion'd Riding-Dress, and a Hat cock'd up.

To Clemene, on her Birth-day.

Verses occasion'd by a Lady being extremely ill one Night, and perfectly well the next Day.

A Reflection upon my own Formation.

A Morning Hymn.

A Prayer for a sick Friend.

The 37th Psalm.

A Meditation upon these Words, Arise, ye Dead, and come to Judgment.

The Vanity of Human Life.

Reasons against deifying the Fair Sex.

The Morning Frolick.

The Dedication to Manlius.

To Mrs. Masters, upon reading the 139th Psalm turned into Verse by her.

An Epistle to my Wife.

Verses on the Coronation.

Verses to the Memory of Mr. Addison.

The XC Psalm, translated from the Original.

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145

To Olinda, taken ill with a Fever at the same time that I recover'd of one.

Cruel Disease! that wouldst no longer stay
With me, thy worthless but thy willing Prey.
Olinda, now, is made thy fatal aim,
A Nymph, as beautiful as Thought can frame.

Oh! spare my Friend, from her lov'd Breast remove,
And mine will gladly all thy Torments prove.
Thou with unbounded Tyranny may'st reign,
And spread Infection thro' each boiling Vein.

But, oh! be that engaging Fair unharm'd,
Who ev'ry Age and either Sex has charm'd.

146

How canst thou, with malignant Ills, design,
To blast a Form, where all the Graces shine.

Oh Death! thou mighty Prince of Shades, from whom
Distempers, quick-destroying, ever come:
From Thee proceeds the dark and dismal Scene,
For if no Death, there had no Sickness been.

Diseases are thy Slaves, which at thy Will
Torment, or spare, or (if thou pleasest) kill.
But hear, and grant this one Request I make,
Oh! spare Olinda for Maria's sake.

Deep in my Bosom fix thy keenest Dart,
And dip its Feathers in my bleeding Heart.
But ah! forbear that tender Breast to wound,
Where Friendship is in full Perfection found.

147

Great King of Terrors! spare the faithful Maid,
I'll be a free-will Off'ring in her stead.