Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sylvia, in vain you wou'd evade
The accusation I have laid:
Your witty, criminal excuses,
Prove your intrigues with all the Muses.
Your guilty commerce with the nine,
Appears from each harmonious line;
Your guilt encreases—since 'tis fit,
We now add modesty to wit.

For at the Poets last assize,
Held at their temple near the skys,
The Cause was fairly tried at large,
And you found guilty of the Charge.

103

The Muses gave in their Report,
Unspotted witnesses at court.
Fancy can raise—her cause to plead,
Poetic counsel from the dead.
Departed Bards—an awful show,
Rose from Elysian bowers below,
By Mercury subpœna'd all,
Bright cohorts croud the heav'nly hall,
And round the court attentive prest,
In myrtle wands, and lawrel drest.
In jury some impannel'd sate,
To hear the elegant debate:
While Pallas to prevent all jar,
Sat Umpire of the heav'nly bar:
For feuds, sometimes, like those below,
Will in immortal bosoms glow.

Now every witness being try'd,
(Tho' some say Cupid was deny'd)
Without much pause, they soon withdrew,
And verdict gave, the charge was true:
For Clio swore point-blank one day,
That you had stole her harp away.
Thalia clos'd it with a vow,
She saw you pluck a lawrel bough:
A Third depos'd, you climb'd the hill.
And drank the Hippocrenian rill:

104

I saw you too, Urania said,
In concert with the Pythian maid;
From her with enigmatic flight,
You learnt dark oracles to write.

Then Cowly cry'd—what need we more,
Examine witnesses, a score?
And Prior said, 'twas all a jest
Celestial counsel to contest:
Waller and Congreve too were there,
And Wicherly began to swear:
But Pallas murmur'd, and was loth
To take the rebel poet's oath;
While Dryden's shade, with nodding bow,
Shook all the lawrels on his brow;
Pope's satyr-ghost stood mute awhile,
But soon consented with a smile.

Then sentence pass'd—the court was hush'd,
Pallas condemn'd,—and Sylvia blush'd:
Loud rung the sound—and every muse,
O'er all Parnassus spread the news.

105

Thus guilty—you're to make confession,
At the next Poets petty session:
And Iris, herald of the court,
Attends you now with this report.

Then clos'd the books—the court withdrew,
Back to the skys, the Muses flew;
And poets tir'd with noisy law, and light,
Again to shades, and silence bent their flight.

The Lady was famous for writing Enigmas.