Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/241

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Countess of Winchilsea
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Then martyrs to our spite.You of one Orpheus sure have read,Who would like you have writ 10Had he in London town been bred,And polish'd to[o] his wit;But he poor soul thought all was well,And great should be his fame,When he had left his wife in hell,And birds and beasts could tame.Yet venturing then with scoffing rhimesThe women to incense,Resenting Heroines of those timesSoon punished his offence. 20And as the Hebrus roll'd his scull,And harp besmear'd with blood,They clashing as the waves grew full,Still harmoniz'd the flood.But you our follies gently treat,And spin so fine the thread,You need not fear his aukward fate,The lock wo'n't cost the head.Our admiration you commandFor all that's gone before; 30What next we look for at your handCan only raise it more.Yet sooth the Ladies I advise(As me too pride has wrought,)We're born to wit, but to be wiseBy admonitions taught.

TO MR. POPE

The muse, of ev'ry heav'nly gift allowedTo be the chief, is public, though not proud.Widely extensive is the poet's aim,
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