Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/143

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Countess of Winchilsea
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Such a presumptuous Creature is esteem'dThe fault, can by no vertue be redeem'd.They tell us, we mistake our sex and way;Good breeding, fassion, dancing, dressing, playAre the accomplishments we shou'd desire;To write, or read, or think, or to enquireWou'd cloud our beauty, and exaust our time,And interrupt the Conquests of our prime;Whilst the dull mannage, of a servile houseIs held by some, our outmost art, and use. 20Sure 'twas not ever thus, nor are we toldFables, of Women that excell'd of old;To whom, by the diffusive hand of HeavenSome share of witt, and poetry was given.On that glad day, on which the Ark return'd,The holy pledge, for which the Land had mourn'd,The joyfull Tribes, attend itt on the way,The Levites do the sacred Charge convey,Whilst various Instruments, before itt play;Here, holy Virgins in the Concert joyn,30The louder notes, to soften, and refine,And with alternate verse, compleat the Hymn Devine.Loe! the yong Poet, after Gods own heart,By Him inspired, and taught the Muses Art,Return'd from Conquest, a bright Chorus meets,That sing his slayn ten thousand in the streets.In such loud numbers they his acts declare,Proclaim the wonders, of his early war,That Saul upon the vast applause does frown,And feels, itts mighty thunder shake the Crown. 40What, can the threat'n'd Judgment now prolong?Half of the Kingdom is already gone;The fairest half, whose influence guides the rest,Have David's Empire, o're their hearts confess't.
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