| |
| AS 1 Seamen, Shipwrack’d on some happy Shore, | |
| Discover Wealth in Lands unknown before, | |
| And, what their Art had labour’d long in vain | |
| By their Misfortunes happily obtain, | |
| So my much envy’d Muse, by storms long tost, | 5 |
| Is thrown upon your hospitable Coast, | |
| And finds more favour by her ill success, | |
| Than she cou’d hope for by her Happiness. | |
| Once Cato’s Vertue did the Gods oppose, | |
| While they the Victor, He the Vanquish’d chose: | 10 |
| But you have done what Cato cou’d not do, | |
| To chuse the Vanquish’d, and restore him too. | |
| Let others still Triumph, and gain their Cause | |
| By their Deserts or by the World’s Applause; | |
| Let Merit Crowns, and Justice Lawrels give, | 15 |
| But let me happy by your Pity live. | |
| True Poets empty Fame and Praise despise; | |
| Fame is the Trumpet, but your Smile the Prize: | |
| You sit above, and see vain Men below | |
| Contend, for what you only can bestow; | 20 |
| But those great actions others do by chance, | |
| Are, like your Beauty, your Inheritance: | |
| So great a Soul, such sweetness join’d in one, | |
| Cou’d only spring from Noble Grandison: | |
| You, like the Stars, not by Reflection bright, | 25 |
| Are born to your own Heav’n, and your own light; | |
| Like them are good, but from a Nobler Cause, | |
| From your own Knowledge, not from Nature’s Laws. | |
| Your Pow’r you never use but for Defence, | |
| To guard your own, or others’ Innocence: | 30 |
| Your Foes are such as they, not you, have made, | |
| And Vertue may repel, tho’ not invade. | |
| Such Courage did the Ancient heroes show, | |
| Who, when they might prevent, wou’d wait the blow; | |
| With such assurance as they meant to say, | 35 |
| We will o’recome, but scorn the safest way. | |
| What further fear of danger can there be? | |
| Beauty, which captives all things, sets me free. | |
| Posterity will judge by my success | |
| I had the Grecian Poet’s happiness, | 40 |
| Who, waving plots, found out a better way; | |
| Some God descended and preserv’d the Play. | |
| When first the Triumphs of your Sex were sung | |
| By those old Poets, Beauty was but young, | |
| And few admired the native Red and White, | 45 |
| Till Poets dress’d them up, to charm the sight; | |
| So Beauty took on trust, and did engage | |
| For Sums of Praises till she came to Age. | |
| But this long growing Debt to Poetry | |
| You justly (Madam) have discharg’d to me, | 50 |
| When your Applause and Favour did infuse | |
| New life to my condemn’d and dying Muse. | |
