To the
EARL OF MELFORD, &c.,
Knight of the most Noble Order of the Thistle.

My Lord,

This Epistle Dedicatory which humbly lays this Little Volume at your Lordships feet, and begs a Protection there, is rather an Address than a Dedication; to which a great many hands have subscrib'd, it Presenting your Lordship a Garland whose Flowers are cull'd by several Judgments in which I claim the least part; whose sole Ambition is this way to congratulate your Lordships new Addition of Honour, that of the Most Noble Order of the Thistle, an Honour which preced's that of the Garter, having been supported by a long Race of Kings, and only fell with the most Illustrious of Queens, whose memory (which ought to be Establish'd, in all hearts can not be better preserv'd,) than by reviving this so Ancient Order; well has His Majesty chosen its Noble Champions, among whom none merits more the Glory of that Royal Favor than your Lordship: whose Loyalty to His Sacred Person and interest through all the adversities of Fate, has begot you so perfect a veneration in all hearts, and is so peculiarly the Innate vertue of your Great mind; a virtue not shewn by unreasonable fits when it shall serve an end, (a false Bravery for a while when least needful, and thrown off when put to useful Tryal; like those who weighing Advantages by Probabilities only, and fancying the future to out-poyse the present, cast there their Anchor of Hope,) but a virtue built on so sure and steady Basis's of Honour, as nothing can move or shake; the Royal Interest being so greatly indeed the Property of Nobility, and so much even above life and Fortune: Especially when to support a Monarch so truly just, so wise and great; a Monarch whom God Almighty Grant long to Reign over Us, and still to be serv'd by men of Principles so truly Brave, as those that shine in your Lordship.

Pardon, my Lord, this Digression and the meanness of this Present, which to a Person of your Lordships great and weighty Employments in the world may seem Improper, if I did not know that the most Glorious of States-men must sometimes unbend from Great Affairs, and seek a diversion in trivial Entertainments; Though Poetry will Justle for the Preeminency of all others, and I know is not the least in the Esteem of your Lordship, who is so admirable a Judge of it, if any thing here may be found worthy the Patronage it Implores, 'twill be a sufficient Honour to,

My Lord,
Your Lordships most humble,
most oblig'd,
and obedient Servant,
A. BEHN.

To Mrs. B. on her Poems.

Hail, Beauteous Prophetess, in whom alone,
Of all your sex Heav'ns master-piece is shewn.
For wondrous skill it argues, wondrous care,
Where two such Stars in firm conjunction are,
A Brain so Glorious, and a Face so fair.
Two Goddesses in your composure joyn'd, }
Nothing but Goddess cou'd, you're so refin'd, }
Bright Venus Body gave, Minerva Mind. }

How soft and fine your manly numbers flow,
Soft as your Lips, and smooth as is your brow.
Gentle as Air, bright as the Noon-days Sky,
Clear as your skin, and charming as your Eye.
No craggy Precipice the Prospect spoyles,
The Eye no tedious barren plain beguiles.
But, like Thessalian Feilds your Volumes are, }
Rapture and charms o're all the soyl appear, }
Astrea and her verse are Tempe every where. }

Ah, more than Woman! more than man she is,
As Phæbus bright; she's too, as Phæbus wise.
The Muses to our sex perverse and coy
Astrea do's familiarly enjoy.
She do's their veiled Glorys understand,
And what we court with pain, with ease command.
Their charming secrets they expanded lay,
Reserv'd to us, to her they all display.
Upon her Pen await those learned Nine. }
She ne're but like the Phosph'rus draws a line, }
As soon as toucht her subjects clearly shine. }

The femal Laurels were obscur'd till now,
And they deserv'd the Shades in which they grew:
But Daphne at your call return's her flight,
Looks boldly up and dares the God of light.
If we Orinda to your works compare, }
They uncouth, like her countrys soyle, appear, }
Mean as its Pesants, as its Mountains bare: }
Sappho tasts strongly of the sex, is weak and poor, }
At second hand she russet Laurels wore, }
Yours are your own, a rich and verdant store. }
If Loves the Theme, you out-do Ovid's Art, }
Loves God himself can't subtiller skill impart, }
Softer than's plumes, more piercing than his Dart. }