TO A

YOUNG LADY,

WITH THE

FIRST EDITION

OF THESE

Mifcellanies.

A

CCEPT this Gift, Lucinda,and approve

The humble Tribute of an early Love. Verse is the fittest Offering we can give To Beauty, or that Beauty can receive For Love and Poefy Companions are, And Wit was given to oblige the Fair. Since 'tis her Charms alone that can-inspire, And fill the Poets breast with Heavenly fire;

To Offer at another Shrine, wou'd be
The highest pitch of grofs Idolatry.
Men to thofe Deities they worship, bring
Of the fame Gifts they gave an Offering:
To Ceres Corn we pay, to Flora Flow'rs,
Pomona has her Fruit, and Verfe is Yours.

Here the Compofer has employ'd his care,
To chufe what beft might entertain the Fair,
And in one body skilfully unite

The fcatter'd Beams of Poetry and Wit.
Here juft Rofcommon with full luftre shines ;
And eafy Art informs his flowing Lines.

From Verse whilft tender Mulgrave feeks relief,
The mournful Graces wait upon his Grief.
Here gentle Etheridge's and Sydley's Muse
Warm the Coy Maid, and melting Love infuse:
No unchaft Words with harsh offenfive found
The tender Ears of blushing Virgins wound,

Nor

Nor Thoughts, which naufeous Images infpire, And damp the glowing heat of foft defirë : But calm and eafy the fweet Numbers move, And ev'ry Verse is influenc'd by Love. Here, bright Lucinda, you'll with pleafu e fee Perform'd, what Nature has outdone in Thee. Nature (whom We aruel Mother find, But too indulgent to the Female Kind, ) Has with nice Art and a peculiar Gare Chose the Perfections of each charming Fair; Aurelia's Judgment, and Corinna's Wit,

And Chloe's Beauty in Lucinda meet;

In thee their beams with pow'rful influence join,
And what was fingly bright, united is Divine.
Oh! that Lucinda too wou'd but improve
The charms of Beauty, with the charms of Love;
Tis that alone enflaves the willing mind,
And makes our Chains more fure, yet fofter bind,
When Beauty Smiles, her Darts refiftless are;
And the Fair Maid that's Kind, is doubly Fair

Nature's chief Mafter-piece is Writing well;
And of all forts of Writing none there are
That can the leaft with Poetry compare :
No kind of work requires fo nice a touch,
And if well finib'd, nothing fhines fomuch;

But

But Heav'n forbid we should be fo profane,
"To grace the Vulgar with that facred Name;
'Tis not a flash of Fancy, which fometimes
Dazling our Minds, fets off the slightest Rhimes;
Bright as a Blaze, but in a moment done;
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;

Which tho sometimes behind a Cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.

Number, and Rhime, and that harmonious
Sound,

Which never does the Ear with Harshness

wound,

Are neceffary, yet but vulgar Arts,
For all in vain these superficial parts

Contribute to the Structure of the whole
Without a Genius too, for that's the Soul;
A Spirit which infpires the Work throughout,
As that of Nature moves the World about;
A Heat which glows in every word that's writ,
'Tis fomething of Divine, and more than Wit;