III.
May we presume to say, that at thy Birth, New joy was sprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth. } For sure the Milder Planets did combine } On thy Auspicious Horoscope to shine, } And ev'n the most Malicious were in Trine. Thy Brother-Angels at thy Birth Strung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high, That all the People of the Skie Might know a Poetess was born on Earth. And then if ever, Mortal Ears Had heard the Musick of the Spheres! And if no clust'ring Swarm of Bees On thy sweet Mouth distill'd their golden Dew, 'Twas that, such vulgar Miracles, Heav'n had not Leasure to renew: For all the Blest Fraternity of Love Solemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holyday above.
IV.
O Gracious God! How far have we Prophan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poesy? Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debas'd to each obscene and impious use, Whose Harmony was first ordain'd Above For Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love? O wretched We! why were we hurry'd down This lubrique and adult'rate age, (Nay added fat Pollutions of our own) T'increase the steaming Ordures of the Stage? What can we say t'excuse our Second Fall? Let this thy Vestal, Heav'n, attone for all! Her Arethusian Stream remains unsoil'd, Unmixt with Forreign Filth, and undefil'd, Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child!
V.
Art she had none, yet wanted: anon For Nature did that Want supply, So rich in Treasures of her Own, She might our boasted Stores defy: Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born. Her Morals too were in her Bosome bred By great Examples daily fed, What in the best of Books, her Fathers Life, she read. And to be read her self she need not fear, Each Test, and ev'ry Light, her Muse will bear, Though Epictetus with his Lamp were there. Ev'n Love (for Love sometimes her Muse exprest) Was but a Lambent-flame which play'd about her Brest: Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream, So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest, 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's Stream.
VI.
Born to the Spacious Empire of the Nine, One would have thought, she should have been content To manage well that Mighty Government: But what can young ambitious Souls confine? } To the next Realm she stretcht her Sway, } For Painture neer adjoyning lay, } A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey. A Chamber of Dependences was fram'd, (As Conquerors will never want Pretence, When arm'd, to justifie the Offence) And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry she claim'd. The Country open lay without Defence: For Poets frequent In-rodes there had made, And perfectly could represent The Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament; And all the large Demains which the Dumb-sister sway'd All bow'd beneath her Government, Receiv'd in Triumph wheresoe're she went. Her Pencil drew, what e're her Soul design'd, And oft the happy Draught surpass'd the Image in her Mind. The Sylvan Scenes of Herds and Flocks, And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks, Of shallow Brooks that flow'd so clear, The Bottom did the Top appear; Of deeper too and ampler Flouds, Which as in Mirrors, shew'd the Woods; Of lofty Trees with Sacred Shades, And Perspectives of pleasant Glades, } Where Nymphs of brightest Form appear, } And shaggy Satyrs standing neer, } Which them at once admire and fear. The Ruines too of some Majestick Piece, Boasting the Pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece, Whose Statues, Freezes, Columns broken lie, And though deface't, the Wonder of the Eie, What Nature, Art, bold Fiction e're durst frame, Her forming Hand gave Shape unto the Name. So strange a Concourse ne're was seen before, But when the peopl'd Ark the whole Creation bore.
VII.
The Scene then chang'd, with bold Erected Look Our Martial King the Eye with Reverence strook: For not content t'express his Outward Part, Her hand call'd out the Image of his Heart, } His Warlike Mind, his Soul devoid of Fear, } His High-designing Thoughts, were figur'd there, } As when, by Magick, Ghosts are made appear. Our Phenix Queen was portrai'd too so bright, Beauty alone could Beauty take so right: Her Dress, her Shape, her matchless Grace, Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly Face. With such a Peerless Majesty she stands, As in that Day she took from Sacred hands The Crown; 'mong num'rous Heroins was seen, More yet in Beauty, than in Rank, the Queen! Thus nothing to her Genius was deny'd, But like a Ball of Fire the further thrown, Still with a greater Blaze she shone, And her bright Soul broke out on ev'ry side. What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows, To such Immod'rate Growth her Conquest rose, That Fate alone their Progress could oppose.