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.

TO THE

RIGHT HON. THE LADY

MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY,

Presented with a Collection of Poems.

BY SOAME JENYNS, ESQ;

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 dies
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.

ΤΟ

A LADY,

SENT WITH A PRESENT OF

SHELLS AND STONES DESIGNED FOR

A GROTTO.

By the Same.

WITH gifts like these, the spoils of neighb'ring

shores,

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 in

spire.

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!

In all her births, though of the meanest kinds,
A just observer entertainment finds,
With fond delight her low productions sees,
And how she gently rises by degrees;

A shell, or stone he can with pleasure view,
Hence trace her noblest works, the heav'ns-and you.

Behold how bright these gaudy trifles shine,

The lovely sportings of a hand divine!

See with what art each curious shell is made,
Here carv'd in fret-work, there with pearl inlaid!
What vivid streaks th' enamel'd stones adorn,
Fair as the paintings of the purple morn!

Yet still not half their charms can reach our eyes,
While thus confus'd the sparkling Chaos lies;
Doubly they'll please, when in your Grotto plac'd,
They plainly speak the fair disposer's taste;

Then glories yet unseen shall o'er them rise,

New order from your hand, new lustre from your eyes.

How sweet, how charming, will appear this Grot, When by your art to full perfection brought! Here verdant plants, and blooming flow'rs will grow, There bubbling currents through the shell-work flow; Here coral mix'd with shells of various dies, There polish'd stone will charm our wond'ring eyes; Delightful bow'r of bliss! secure retreat!

Fit for the Muses, and STATIRA's seat.