Fruits of Retirement Or, Miscellaneous Poems, Moral and Divine. Being Some Contemplations, Letters, &c. Written on a Variety of Subjects and Occasions. By Mary Mollineux ... To which is Prefixed, Some Account of the Author |
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TO THE READER. |
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 | Fruits of Retirement |  |
TO THE READER.
The Author of this Miscellaneous Grove,
Was Fruitful both in Vertue and in Love:
Read but the following Lines, and thou may'st find,
She was the Mistress of a Noble Mind;
A Soul, of more than common size, possess'd
Her almost (I had said) too narrow Breast.
True to her Friend, as plainly doth appear,
In dealing plainly with her Friend so dear:
She us'd no Gilded Baits, no Flattery,
No feigned Words, but plain Sincerity;
Which doth bespeak her Love, and Vertue too,
Contended one the other to out-do.
In Numbers sweet, her warbling Pen hath try'd
Unerring Truth from Error to divide:
Her Lines, thus measur'd, have successful been,
To turn the wand'ring Mind to search within;
Where that Invaluable Treasure lies,
Unsought by most, discover'd to the Wise;
But yet conceal'd and hid from Vult'rous Eyes.
'Tis not the common way, I must confess,
To write in Verse; although 'tis ne'ertheless
To be esteem'd; because some do disdain,
And undervalue what they can't attain:
I'd have such unadvised ones to know,
Their Genius perches on a lower Bough,
For want of Wings their untun'd Souls to raise
Unto a Pitch of Harmony and Praise.
Oft have I seen the Lark upon the Wing,
Toward the Sun ascend, and sweetly Sing;
As if she had a Tribute due to pay
Unto the mighty Ruler of the Day,
In well-composed Songs of tuneful Breath,
Such as the Swan repeats before her Death.
Thus was our Author's Noble Faculty
Employ'd, to render thanks, in Melody,
To Him, from whom she did her Life receive;
To Him, who never sparingly doth give
To them that, to his Praise, his Gifts do use,
And with his Blessings don't the World abuse.
'Tis such as these unto the Well can sing,
That bubbles up from the Eternal Spring;
And these alone, that to themselves secure
A place, where Waters fail not, and where Bread is sure.
I'th' Praise of noble Verse, much I might say,
Which, tho' by some abus'd, its Value don't allay.
A Pearl will not the less a Crown adorn,
'Cause by a filthy Swine it hath been worn,
And trampled under Foot; th' intrinsick Price
Will still appear unto the truly Wife.
Was Fruitful both in Vertue and in Love:
Read but the following Lines, and thou may'st find,
She was the Mistress of a Noble Mind;
A Soul, of more than common size, possess'd
Her almost (I had said) too narrow Breast.
True to her Friend, as plainly doth appear,
In dealing plainly with her Friend so dear:
She us'd no Gilded Baits, no Flattery,
No feigned Words, but plain Sincerity;
Which doth bespeak her Love, and Vertue too,
Contended one the other to out-do.
In Numbers sweet, her warbling Pen hath try'd
Unerring Truth from Error to divide:
Her Lines, thus measur'd, have successful been,
To turn the wand'ring Mind to search within;
Where that Invaluable Treasure lies,
Unsought by most, discover'd to the Wise;
But yet conceal'd and hid from Vult'rous Eyes.
'Tis not the common way, I must confess,
To write in Verse; although 'tis ne'ertheless
And undervalue what they can't attain:
I'd have such unadvised ones to know,
Their Genius perches on a lower Bough,
For want of Wings their untun'd Souls to raise
Unto a Pitch of Harmony and Praise.
Oft have I seen the Lark upon the Wing,
Toward the Sun ascend, and sweetly Sing;
As if she had a Tribute due to pay
Unto the mighty Ruler of the Day,
In well-composed Songs of tuneful Breath,
Such as the Swan repeats before her Death.
Thus was our Author's Noble Faculty
Employ'd, to render thanks, in Melody,
To Him, from whom she did her Life receive;
To Him, who never sparingly doth give
To them that, to his Praise, his Gifts do use,
And with his Blessings don't the World abuse.
'Tis such as these unto the Well can sing,
That bubbles up from the Eternal Spring;
And these alone, that to themselves secure
A place, where Waters fail not, and where Bread is sure.
I'th' Praise of noble Verse, much I might say,
Which, tho' by some abus'd, its Value don't allay.
A Pearl will not the less a Crown adorn,
'Cause by a filthy Swine it hath been worn,
And trampled under Foot; th' intrinsick Price
Will still appear unto the truly Wife.
We read in Sacred Writ of some that wore,
The Iewels of the Lord, and play'd the Whore:
We also read, how David, with his Lire,
Could still Saul's Rage, and sooth his secret Fire,
That did his Breast inflame, and Heavenly Thoughts inspire;
How with his Verse, he could his Mind compose,
And lull his Passions to a soft Repose.
His Psalms are full of Hymns and Songs of Praise,
Prophetick Mystick Flights, in heavenly Lays;
Which may suffice to let the Reader know,
He was a Poet, and a Prophet too.
The wisest Prince that ever fill'd a Throne,
Or sway'd a Scepter in the World, was one,
Who of divine and heavenly Love has sang
A Song, which from th'Harmonious Being sprang.
Therefore, kind Reader, don't pre-judge, but try,
And then, no doubt, but in this Harmony,
Thou'lt, to thy Comfort, Satisfaction find,
When Discomposure doth possess thy Mind.
The Iewels of the Lord, and play'd the Whore:
Could still Saul's Rage, and sooth his secret Fire,
That did his Breast inflame, and Heavenly Thoughts inspire;
How with his Verse, he could his Mind compose,
And lull his Passions to a soft Repose.
His Psalms are full of Hymns and Songs of Praise,
Prophetick Mystick Flights, in heavenly Lays;
Which may suffice to let the Reader know,
He was a Poet, and a Prophet too.
The wisest Prince that ever fill'd a Throne,
Or sway'd a Scepter in the World, was one,
Who of divine and heavenly Love has sang
A Song, which from th'Harmonious Being sprang.
Therefore, kind Reader, don't pre-judge, but try,
And then, no doubt, but in this Harmony,
Thou'lt, to thy Comfort, Satisfaction find,
When Discomposure doth possess thy Mind.
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