University of Virginia Library

To a Young Lady, desiring a Copy of Verses from the Author.

Madam, I've laid aside my Muse,
But, when You bid, I can't refuse
To tune my Harp, to put a String on
And think of something new to sing on;
But Oh! the Task is hard to hit
On something new, and something fit!
To write of Heroes, and of Wars,
Intestine Feuds, or foreign Jars;
Of mighty Matters done in Battel,
How Towns are storm'd, and Cannons rattle,
Are things without a Lady's Sphere,
And therefore not so proper here.
To talk of Swains and Shepherdesses,
Their aukward Dialogues, and Dresses,
How the fond Clowns adore their Dames,
Old-fashion'd things, with constant Flames,
And how the Nymphs, Occasion blessing,
And gentle Nature jointly pressing,
Relieve their Pain with kind caressing;
Of Moon-light Freaks, and Cynthia's Train,
How Fairies wanton in the Plain,

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Of flowery Valleys, lofty Hills,
Resounding Grots, and whisp'ring Rills,
Above, or much below, my Strain is,
And therefore to attempt it vain is.
A King's or Cobler's Death to pity,
And pen a grievous Church-yard Ditty,
In sable Elegy to wail,
Would prove, I fear, a drouzy Tale;
And therefore I'm resolv'd to keep
My Muse from crying you to sleep.
To sing of Beauty, and of You,
And give your Merit half its due;
Your Charms and Virtues to rehearse
Is far beyond the Pow'r of Verse.
What, then, to sing, or what to say,
Without a Subject for my Lay!
Troth, Madam, all that can be done,
Is to leave off where I begun.