A fpirit fo rich, fo noble, and fo high,

Should unmanur'd or barren lie.

But thou induftriously hast sow'd and till'd
The fair and fruitful field;

And 'tis a ftrange increase that it does yield.
As, when the happy Gods above
Meet all together at a feast,

A fecret joy unspeakable does move

In their great mother Cybele's contented breaft :
With no lefs pleasure thou, methinks, fhould fee,
This, thy no lefs immortal progeny.

And in their birth thou no one touch doft find,
Of th' ancient curfe to woman-kind :

Thou bring'st not forth with pain;
It neither travail is nor labour of the brain:
So eafily they from thee come,

And there is so much room

In th' unexhaufted and unfathom'd womb, That, like the Holland Countefs, thou may'st bear A child for every day of all the fertile year.

Thou doft my wonder, wouldst my envy, raise, If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise : Where'er I fee an excellence,

I must admire to see thy well-knit sense,

Thy numbers gentle, and thy fancies high;

Thofe as thy forehead fmooth, these sparkling as thine

'Tis folid, and 'tis manly all,

Or rather 'tis angelical;

[eye.

For,

For, as in angels, we

Do in thy verfes fee

Both improv'd fexes eminently meet;

They are than man more strong, and more than woman fweet.

They talk of Nine, I know not who,
Female chimera's, that o'er poets reign;
I ne'er could find that fancy true,
But have invok'd them oft, I 'm fure, in vain :
They talk of Sappho; but, alas! the shame!
Ill-manners foil the luftre of her fame;
Orinda's inward virtue is fo bright,
That, like a lantern's fair inclofed light,
It through the paper fhines where she does write.
Honour and friendship, and the generous fcorn
Of things for which we were not born
(Things that can only by a fond disease,
Like that of girls, our vicious stomachs please)
Are the inftructive subjects of her pen ;

And, as the Roman victory

Taught our rude land arts and civility,

At once the overcomes, enflaves, and betters, men.

But Rome with all her arts could ne'er inspire,
A female breast with such a fire:

The warlike Amazonian train,
Who in Elyfium now do peaceful reign,
And Wit's mild empire before arms prefer,
Hope 'twill be fettled in their fex by her.

Merlin the feer (and fure he would not lye,
In fuch a facred company)

Does prophecies of learn'd Orinda show,
Which he had darkly spoke so long ago;
Ev'n Boadicia's angry ghost

Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace,

And to her injur'd daughters now does boast, That Rome 's o'ercome at last, by a woman of her race.

O DE

UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES.

B

OF MY LORD BROGHILL'S.

E gone (faid I) ingrateful Muse! and fee

What others thou canst fool, as well as me..

Since I grew man, and wiser ought to be, My business and my hopes I left for thee: For thee (which was more hardly given away) I left, even when a boy, my play.

But fay, ingrateful mistress! say,

What for all this, what didst thou ever pay? -
Thou 'It fay, perhaps, that riches are

Not of the growth of lands where thou dost trade,
And I as well my country might upbraid

Because I have no vineyard there.

Well but in love thou doft pretend to reign;
There thine the power and lordship is;

Thou bad'ft me write, and write, and write again;,
'Twas such a way as could not miss,
M.

VOL, I.

I, like

I, like a fool, did thee obey:

I wrote, and wrote, but ftill I wrote in vain;
For, after all my expence of wit and pain,
A rich, unwriting hand, carried the prize away.

Thus I complain'd, and strait the Muse reply'd,
That she had given me fame.

Bounty immenfe and that too must be try'd
When I myself am nothing but a name.

Who now, what reader does not strive
T' invalidate the gift whilst we 're alive?
For, when a poet now himself doth fhow,
As if he were a common foe,

All draw upon him, all around,

And every part of him they wound,

Happy the man that gives the deepest blow:
And this is all, kind Mufe! to thee we owe
Then in rage I took,

And out at window threw,

Ovid and Horace, all the chiming crew ;
Homer himself went with them too;
Hardly escap'd the facred Mantuan book:
I my own offspring, like Agave, tore,
And I refolv'd, nay, and I think I swore,

That I no more the ground would till and fow,
Where only flowery weeds instead of corn did grow.

When (fee the subtle ways which Fate docs find,
Rebellious man to bind !

Just to the work for which he is affign'd)

The

The Mufe came in more chearful than before, And bade me quarrel with her now no more: "Lol thy reward! look here, and fee "What I have made" (faid the)

"My lover and belov'd, my Broghill, do for thee! "Though thy own verse no lafting fame can give, "Thou shalt at leaft in his for ever live.

What criticks, the great Hectors now in wit, "Who rant and challenge all men that have writ, "Will dare t' oppose thee, when

"Broghill in thy defence has drawn his conquering I rofe, and bow'd my head,

And pardon afk'd for all that I had faid: '
Well fatisfy'd and proud,

[pen?"

I ftrait refolv'd, and folemnly I vow'd,
That from her service now I ne'er would part;
So ftrongly large rewards work on a grateful heart!
Nothing fo foon the drooping fpirits can raise
As praises from the men whom all men praise :
'Tis the best cordial, and which only those
Who have at home th' ingredients can compofe;
A cordial that reftores our fainting breath,
And keeps up life ev'n after death !

The only danger is, left it should be
Too ftrong a remedy;

Left, in removing cold, it fhould beget
Too violent a heat;

And into madness turn the lethargy.

Ah! gracious God! that I might fee A time when it were dangerous for me