My breeding and my politesse,
I visit in a birth-day dress;
My coat of purest Turkey-red,
With gold embroid'ry richly spread;
To which I've sure as good pretensions,
As Irish lords who starve on pensions.
What though proud ministers of state
Did at your antichamber wait;
What though your Oxfords, and your St. Johns,
Have at your levee paid attendance:
And Peterborough and great Ormond,
With many chiefs who now are dormant,
Have laid aside the gen'ral's staff
And public cares, with you to laugh;
Yet I some friends as good can name,
Nor less the darling sons of fame;
For sure my Pollio and Mæcenas
Were as good statesmen, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Though they made Lewis beg a parley:
And as for Mordaunt, your lov'd hero,
I'll match him with my Drusus Nero.
You'll boast perhaps your fav'rite Pope;
But Virgil is as good I hope.
I own indeed I can't get any
To equal Helsham and Delany;
Since Athens brought forth Socrates,
A Grecian isle Hippocrates;
Since Tully liv'd before my time,
And Galen bless'd another clime.
You'll plead perhaps to my request,
To be admitted as a guest,
Your hearing's bad :-But why such fears?
I speak to eyes, and not to ears;
And for that reason wisely took
The form you see me in, a book.
Attack'd by slow-devouring moths,
By rage of barb'rous Huns and Goths,
By Bentley's notes, my deadliest foes,
By Creech's rhimes and Dunster's prose;
I found my boasted wit and fire
In their rude hands almost expire:
Yet still they but in vain assail'd,
For, had their violence prevail'd,
And in a blast destroy'd my fame,
They would have partly miss'd their aim;
Since all my spirit in thy page
Defies the Vandals of this age.
'Tis yours to save these small remains
From future pedant's muddy brains,
And fix my long uncertain fate,
You best know how:-Which way?-Translate.
RIGHT HON. THE LADY
MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY,
Presented with a Collection of Poems.
THE tuneful throng was ever beauty's care,
And verse a tribute sacred to the fair.
Hence in each age the loveliest nymph has been,
By undisputed right, the Muses' queen :
Her smiles have all poetic bosoms fir'd,
And patroniz'd the verse themselves inspir'd :
LESBIA presided thus in Roman times,
Thus SACCHARISSA reign'd o'er British rhymes,
And present bards to MARGARETTA bow,
For, what they were of old, is HARLEY now.
From OXFORD's house, in these dull busy days, Alone we hope for patronage, or praise; He to our slighted labors still is kind, Beneath his roof w' are ever sure to find (Reward sufficient for the world's neglect) Charms to inspire, and goodness to protect:
Your eyes with rapture animate our lays,
Your sire's kind hand uprears our drooping bays,
Form'd for our glory and support, ye seem,
Our constant patron he, and you our theme.
Where should poetic homage then be pay'd?
Where every verse, but at your feet be lay'd?
A double right you to this empire bear,
As first in beauty, and as OXFORD's heir.
Illustrious maid! in whose sole person join'd
Every perfection of the fair we find,
Charms that might warrant all her sex's pride,
Without one foible of her sex to hide :
Good-nature, artless as the bloom that dyes
Her cheeks, and wit as piercing as her eyes.
Oh HARLEY! could you but these lines approve,
These children sprung from idleness and love,
Could they (but ah how vain is the design!)
Hope to amuse your hours, as once they've mine,
Th' ill judging world's applause and critic's blame
Alike I'd scorn; your approbation's fame.
SHELLS AND STONES DESIGNED FOR
WITH gifts like these, the spoils of neighb'ring
The Indian swain his sable love adores,
Off'rings well suited to the dusky shrine
Of his rude goddess, but unworthy mine :
And yet they seem not such a worthless prize,
If nicely view'd by philosophic eyes:
And such are yours, that Nature's works admire With warmth like that which they themselves inspire.
To such how fair appears each grain of sand, Or humblest weed, as wrought by Nature's hand! How far superior to all human pow'r,
Springs the green blade, or buds the painted flow'r
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