Anne Finch

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    Biographical information

  1. A Nocturnal Reverie
  2. Adam Posed
  3. From 'The Poems Of Anne': A Letter To Dafnis: April 2nd, 1685
  4. From 'The Poems Of Anne': An Invitation To Dafnis
  5. From 'The Poems Of Anne': Ardelia To Melancholy
  6. From 'The Poems Of Anne': Consolation
  7. From 'The Poems Of Anne': On Myselfe
  8. From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Apology
  9. From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Bird And The Arras
  10. From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Introduction
  11. From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Unequal Fetters
  12. From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': A Contemplation
  13. From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': A Suplication For The Joys Of Heaven
  14. From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': An Apology For My Fearfull Temper
  15. From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': On The Death Of The Queen




    Biographical information

      Name: Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
      Place and date of birth: Sydmonton, Hampshire (England); April, 1661
      Place and date of death: Westminster, London (England); August 5, 1720 (aged 59)

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      A Nocturnal Reverie

        In such a night, when every louder wind
        Is to its distant cavern safe confined;
        And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings,
        And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings;
        Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight,
        She, hollowing clear, directs the wand'rer right:
        In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
        Or thinly veil the heav'ns' mysterious face;
        When in some river, overhung with green,
        The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
        When freshened grass now bears itself upright,
        And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
        Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,
        And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
        Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
        Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes
        When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine,
        Shew trivial beauties watch their hour to shine;
        Whilst Salisb'ry stands the test of every light,
        In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright:
        When odors, which declined repelling day,
        Through temp'rate air uninterrupted stray;
        When darkened groves their softest shadows wear,
        And falling waters we distinctly hear;
        When through the gloom more venerable shows
        Some ancient fabric, awful in repose,
        While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
        And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale:
        When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads,
        Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads,
        Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear,
        Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear:
        When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
        And unmolested kine rechew the cud;
        When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
        And to her straggling brood the partridge calls;
        Their shortlived jubilee the creatures keep,
        Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep;
        When a sedate content the spirit feels,
        And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
        But silent musings urge the mind to seek
        Something, too high for syllables to speak;
        Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,
        Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
        O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
        Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks it like her own:
        In such a night let me abroad remain,
        Till morning breaks, and all's confused again;
        Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,
        Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.

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      Adam Posed

        Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,
        Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,
        Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
        Could he a vain fantastic nymph have seen,
        In all her airs, in all her antic graces,
        Her various fashions, and more various faces;
        How had it posed that skill, which late assigned
        Just appellations to each several kind!
        A right idea of the sight to frame;
        T'have guessed from what new element she came;
        T'have hit the wav'ring form, or giv'n this thing a name.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': A Letter To Dafnis: April 2nd, 1685

        This to the Crown, and blessing of my life,
        The much lov'd husband, of a happy wife.
        To him, whose constant passion found the art
        To win a stubborn, and ungratefull heart;
        And to the World, by tend'rest proof discovers
        They err, who say that husbands can't be lovers.
        With such return of passion, as is due,
        Daphnis I love, Daphnis my thoughts persue,
        Daphnis, my hopes, my joys, are bounded all in you:
        Ev'n I, for Daphnis, and my promise sake,
        What I in women censure, undertake.
        But this from love, not vanity, proceeds;
        You know who writes; and I who 'tis that reads.
        Judge not my passion, by my want of skill,
        Many love well, though they express it ill;
        And I your censure cou'd with pleasure bear,
        Wou'd you but soon return, and speak it here.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': An Invitation To Dafnis

        When such a day, blesst the Arcadian plaine,
        Warm without Sun, and shady without rain,
        Fann'd by an air, that scarsly bent the flowers,
        Or wav'd the woodbines, on the summer bowers,
        The Nymphs disorder'd beauty cou'd not fear,
        Nor ruffling winds uncurl'd the Shepheards hair,
        On the fresh grasse, they trod their measures light,
        And a long Evening made, from noon, to night.
        Come then my Dafnis, from those cares descend
        Which better may the winter season spend.
        Come, and the pleasures of the feilds, survey,
        And throo' the groves, with your Ardelia stray.

        Reading the softest Poetry, refuse,
        To veiw the subjects of each rural muse;
        Nor lett the busy compasses go round,
        When faery Cercles better mark the ground.
        Rich Colours on the Vellum cease to lay,
        When ev'ry lawne much nobler can display,
        When on the daz'ling poppy may be seen
        A glowing red, exceeding your carmine;
        And for the blew that o're the Sea is borne,
        A brighter rises in our standing corn.
        Come then, my Dafnis, and the feilds survey,
        And throo' the groves, with your Ardelia stray.

        Come, and lett Sansons World, no more engage,
        Altho' he gives a Kingdom in a page;
        O're all the Vniverse his lines may goe,
        And not a clime, like temp'rate brittan show,
        Come then, my Dafnis, and her feilds survey,
        And throo' the groves, with your Ardelia stray.

        Nor plead that you're immur'd, and cannot yield,
        That mighty Bastions keep you from the feild,
        Think not tho' lodg'd in Mons, or in Namur,
        You're from my dangerous attacks secure.
        No, Louis shall his falling Conquests fear,
        When by succeeding Courriers he shall hear
        Appollo, and the Muses, are drawn down,
        To storm each fort, and take in ev'ry Town.
        Vauban, the Orphean Lyre, to mind shall call,
        That drew the stones to the old Theban Wall,
        And make no doubt, if itt against him play,
        They, from his works, will fly as fast away,
        Which to prevent, he shall to peace persuade,
        Of strong, confederate Syllables, affraid.
        Come then, my Dafnis, and the fields survey,
        And throo' the Groves, with your Ardelia stray.

        Come, and attend, how as we walk along,
        Each chearfull bird, shall treat us with a song,
        Nott such as Fopps compose, where witt, nor art,
        Nor plainer Nature, ever bear a part;
        The Cristall springs, shall murmure as we passe,
        But not like Courtiers, sinking to disgrace;
        Nor, shall the louder Rivers, in their fall,
        Like unpaid Saylers, or hoarse Pleaders brawle;
        But all shall form a concert to delight,
        And all to peace, and all to love envite.
        Come then, my Dafnis, and the feilds survey,
        And throo' the Groves, with your Ardelia stray.

        As Baucis and Philemon spent their lives,
        Of husbands he, the happyest she, of wives,
        When throo' the painted meads, their way they sought,
        Harmlesse in act, and unperplext in thought,
        Lett us my Dafnis, rural joys persue,
        And Courts, or Camps, not ev'n in fancy view.
        So, lett us throo' the Groves, my Dafnis stray,
        And so, the pleasures of the feilds, survey.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': Ardelia To Melancholy

        At last, my old inveterate foe,
        No opposition shalt thou know.
        Since I by struggling, can obtain
        Nothing, but encrease of pain,
        I will att last, no more do soe,
        Tho' I confesse, I have apply'd
        Sweet mirth, and musick, and have try'd
        A thousand other arts beside,
        To drive thee from my darken'd breast,
        Thou, who hast banish'd all my rest.
        But, though sometimes, a short repreive they gave,
        Unable they, and far too weak, to save;
        All arts to quell, did but augment thy force,
        As rivers check'd, break with a wilder course.
        Freindship, I to my heart have laid,
        Freindship, th' applauded sov'rain aid,
        And thought that charm so strong wou'd prove,
        As to compell thee, to remove;
        And to myself, I boasting said,
        Now I a conqu'rer sure shall be,
        The end of all my conflicts, see,
        And noble tryumph, wait on me;
        My dusky, sullen foe, will sure
        N'er this united charge endure.
        But leaning on this reed, ev'n whilst I spoke
        It peirc'd my hand, and into peices broke.
        Still, some new object, or new int'rest came
        And loos'd the bonds, and quite disolv'd the claim.

        These failing, I invok'd a Muse,
        And Poetry wou'd often use,
        To guard me from thy Tyrant pow'r;
        And to oppose thee ev'ry hour
        New troops of fancy's, did I chuse.
        Alas! in vain, for all agree
        To yeild me Captive up to thee,
        And heav'n, alone, can sett me free.
        Thou, through my life, wilt with me goe,
        And make ye passage, sad, and slow.
        All, that cou'd ere thy ill gott rule, invade,
        Their uselesse arms, before thy feet have laid;
        The Fort is thine, now ruin'd, all within,
        Whilst by decays without, thy Conquest too, is seen.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': Consolation

        See, Phoebus breaking from the willing skies,
        See, how the soaring Lark, does with him rise,
        And through the air, is such a journy borne
        As if she never thought of a return.
        Now, to his noon, behold him proudly goe,
        And look with scorn, on all that's great below.
        A Monark he, and ruler of the day,
        A fav'rite She, that in his beams does play.
        Glorious, and high, but shall they ever bee,
        Glorious, and high, and fixt where now we see?
        No, both must fall, nor can their stations keep,
        She to the Earth, and he below the Deep,
        At night both fall, but the swift hand of time
        Renews the morning, and again they climb,
        Then lett no cloudy change, create my sorrow,
        I'll think 'tis night, and I may rise to-morrow.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': On Myselfe

        Good Heav'n, I thank thee, since it was design'd
        I shou'd be fram'd, but of the weaker kinde,
        That yet, my Soul, is rescu'd from the Love
        Of all those Trifles, which their Passions move.
        Pleasures, and Praise, and Plenty haue with me
        But their just value. If allow'd they be,
        Freely, and thankfully as much I tast,
        As will not reason, or Religion wast.
        If they're deny'd, I on my selfe can Liue,
        And slight those aids, unequal chance does give.
        When in the Sun, my wings can be display'd,
        And in retirement, I can bless the shade.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Apology

        'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
        I am alone forbid to play the fool
        To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
        And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse
        Why shou'd it in my Pen be held a fault
        Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought
        Whilst Lamia to the manly Bumper flys
        And borrow'd Spiritts sparkle in her Eyes
        Why shou'd itt be in me a thing so vain
        To heat with Poetry my colder Brain?
        But I write ill and there-fore shou'd forbear
        Does Flavia cease now at her fortieth year
        In ev'ry Place to lett that face be seen
        Which all the Town rejected at fifteen
        Each Woman has her weaknesse; mind [sic] indeed
        Is still to write tho' hopelesse to succeed
        Nor to the Men is this so easy found
        Ev'n in most Works with which the Witts abound
        (So weak are all since our first breach with Heav'n)
        Ther's lesse to be Applauded than forgiven.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Bird And The Arras

        By neer resemblance see that Bird betray'd
        Who takes the well wrought Arras for a shade
        There hopes to pearch and with a chearfull Tune
        O're-passe the scortchings of the sultry Noon.
        But soon repuls'd by the obdurate scean
        How swift she turns but turns alas in vain
        That piece a Grove, this shews an ambient sky
        Where immitated Fowl their pinnions ply
        Seeming to mount in flight and aiming still more high.
        All she outstrip's and with a moments pride
        Their understation silent does deride
        Till the dash'd Cealing strikes her to the ground
        No intercepting shrub to break the fall is found
        Recovering breath the window next she gaines
        Nor fears a stop from the transparent Panes.
        But we degresse and leaue th' imprison'd wretch
        Now sinking low now on a loftyer stretch
        Flutt'ring in endless cercles of dismay
        Till some kind hand directs the certain way
        Which through the casement an escape affoards
        And leads to ample space the only Heav'n of Birds.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Introduction

        Did I, my lines intend for publick view,
        How many censures, wou'd their faults persue,
        Some wou'd, because such words they do affect,
        Cry they're insipid, empty, uncorrect.
        And many, have attain'd, dull and untaught
        The name of Witt, only by finding fault.
        True judges, might condemn their want of witt,
        And all might say, they're by a Woman writt.
        Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,
        Such an intruder on the rights of men,
        Such a presumptuous Creature, is esteem'd,
        The fault, can by no vertue be redeem'd.
        They tell us, we mistake our sex and way;
        Good breeding, fassion, dancing, dressing, play
        Are the accomplishments we shou'd desire;
        To write, or read, or think, or to enquire
        Wou'd cloud our beauty, and exaust our time;
        And interrupt the Conquests of our prime;
        Whilst the dull mannage, of a servile house
        Is held by some, our outmost art, and use.
        Sure 'twas not ever thus, nor are we told
        Fables, of Women that excell'd of old;
        To whom, by the diffusive hand of Heaven
        Some 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,
        The 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.
        What, 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.
        A Woman here, leads fainting Israel on,
        She fights, she wins, she tryumphs with a song,
        Devout, Majestick, for the subject fitt,
        And far above her arms, exalts her witt,
        Then, to the peacefull, shady Palm withdraws,
        And rules the rescu'd Nation with her Laws.
        How are we fal'n, fal'n by mistaken rules?
        And Education's, more than Nature's fools,
        Debarr'd from all improve-ments of the mind,
        And to be dull, expected and dessigned;
        And if some one, would Soar above the rest,
        With warmer fancy, and ambition press't,
        So strong, th' opposing faction still appears,
        The hopes to thrive, can ne're outweigh the fears,
        Be caution'd then my Muse, and still retir'd;
        Nor be dispis'd, aiming to be admir'd;
        Conscious of wants, still with contracted wing,
        To some few freinds, and to thy sorrows sing;
        For groves of Lawrell, thou wert never meant;
        Be dark enough thy shades, and be thou there content.

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      From 'The Poems Of Anne': The Unequal Fetters

        Cou'd we stop the time that's flying
        Or recall itt when 'tis past
        Put far off the day of Dying
        Or make Youth for ever last
        To Love wou'd then be worth our cost.
        But since we must loose those Graces
        Which at first your hearts have wonne
        And you seek for in new Faces
        When our Spring of Life is done
        It wou'd but urdge our ruine on.

        Free as Nature's first intention
        Was to make us, I'll be found
        Nor by subtle Man's invention
        Yeild to be in Fetters bound
        By one that walks a freer round.

        Mariage does but slightly tye Men
        Whil'st close Pris'ners we remain
        They the larger Slaves of Hymen
        Still are begging Love again
        At the full length of all their chain.

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      From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': A Contemplation

        Indulg'd by ev'ry active thought
        When upwards they wou'd fly
        Nor can Ambition be a fault
        If plac'd above the sky
        When humbld first we meekly crave
        Remission for the past
        We from the fore-tasts which we have
        May guesse our Joys at last.

        Then let my Contemplation soar
        And Heav'n my Subject be
        Though low on Earth in nature poor
        Some prospect we may see.

        And now that scene before me stands
        And large Possessions there
        Where none usurps anothers Lands
        And Theives we do not fear.

        All Care all Sorrow all Surprise
        Fly from that World of peace
        Where tears are wip'd from clouded Eyes
        And Sighs for ever cease.

        Decay or Sicknesse find no place
        In that untainted Air
        But still th'incorruptable Face
        Shall as at first be fair.

        Agility in pace or flight
        The Blessed shall convey
        Where e're the Lamb more fair then light
        Shall lead the radiant way.

        Whilst Praises in Seraphick Sounds
        The blisful road shall trace
        And musick seem to passe the bounds
        Even of unbounded Space.

        Such balmy Odours shall disperse
        As from the Bridegroom's pores
        The holy Canticles rehearse
        Fell on the Bolts and Doors.

        When to his Spouse the well belov'd
        More white then Jordans Flocks
        Spake whilest her hand the Barrs remov'd
        And dew-drops fill'd his locks.

        The Crosse shall there triumphant rise
        And ev'ry Eye shall scan
        That promis'd Ensign in the skies
        Close by the Son of Man.

        With Christ there Charles's Crown shall meet
        Which Martirdom adorns
        And prostrate lye beneath his feet
        My Coronet of Thorns.

        The Lord to whom my life is joyn'd
        For Conscience here opprest
        Shall there full retribution find
        And none his Claimes molest.

        Hypocrisy and feign'd pretence
        To cover foul Dissigns
        Shall blusshing fly as far from thence
        As to the deepest Mines.

        We there shall know the use of Foes
        Whom here we have forgiven
        When we shall thank them for those woes
        Which pav'd our way to Heaven.

        There all good things that we have mist
        With Int'rest shall return
        Whilst those who have each wish possest
        Shall for that fullnesse mourn.

        There Coventry of Tufton's Line
        For piety renown'd
        Shall in transcending virtues Shine
        And Equally be Crown'd.

        Around her shall the Chains be spread
        Of Captives she has freed
        And ev'ry Mouth that she has fed
        Shall testify the deed.

        Whilst Scools supplied to mend our youth
        Shall on the List be shown
        A Daughter and a Mother both
        In Her the Church shall own.The Gospell crosse the seas rehearst
        By her diffusive aid
        And fifty-thousand pounds dispers'd
        Shall there be largely paid.

        My Heart by her supporting Love
        In all its Cares upheld
        For that, to see her Crown improve
        With transports shall be fill'd.

        From Gratitude what graces flow
        What endlesse pleasures spring
        From Prayers whilst we remain below
        Above whilst Praise we Sing.

        And Mammon wert thou well employ'd
        What Mansions might be wonne
        Whilst Woolsey's Pallace lyes destroy'd
        And Marlbrough's is not done.

        Whilst to this Heav'n my Soul Aspires
        All Suff'rings here are light
        He travells pleas'd who but desires
        A Sweet Repose at Night.

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      From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': A Suplication For The Joys Of Heaven

        To the Superior World to Solemn Peace
        To Regions where Delights shall never cease
        To Living Springs and to Celestial shade
        For change of pleasure not Protection made
        To Blissfull Harmonys o'erflowing source
        Which Strings or stops can neither bind or Force
        But wafting Air for ever bears along
        Perpetual Motion with perpetual Song
        On which the Blest in Symphonies ascend
        And towards the Throne with Vocal ardours bend
        To Radial light o'erspreading Boundless space
        To the safe Goal of our well ended race
        To shelter where the weary shall have rest
        And where the wicked never shall molest
        To that Jerusalem which ours below
        Did but in type and faint resemblance shew
        To the first born and ransom'd Church above
        To Seraphims whose whole composures love
        To active Cherubins whom wings surround
        Not made to rest tho' on imortal ground
        But still suspended wait with flaming joy
        In swift commands their vigour to employ
        Ambrosial dews distilling from their plumes
        Scattering where e'er they pass innate perfumes
        To Angells of innumerable sorts
        Subordinate in the etherial Courts
        To Men refin'd from every gross allay
        Who taught the Flesh the Spirit to obey
        And keeping late futurity in view
        Do now possess what long they did persue
        To Jesus founder of the Christian race
        And kind dispenser of the Gospell grace
        Bring me my God in my accomplish't time
        From weakness freed and from degrading crime
        Fast by the Tree of life be my retreat
        Whose leaves are Med'cin and whose fruit is meat
        Heal'd by the first and by the last renew'd
        With all perfections be my Soul endued
        My form that has the earthly figure borne
        Take the Celestial in its Glorious turn
        My temper frail and subject to dismay
        Be stedfast there spiritualiz'd and gay
        My low Poetick tendency be rais'd
        Till the bestower worthily is prais'd
        Till Dryden's numbers for Cecilia's feast
        Which sooth depress inflame and shake the breast
        Vary the passions with each varying line
        Allow'd below all others to outshine
        Shall yeild to those above shall yeild to mine
        In sound in sense in emphasis Divine
        Stupendious are the heights to which they rise
        Whose anthems match the musick of the skies
        Whilst that which art we call when studied here
        Is nature there in its sublimest sphere
        And the pathetick now so hard to find
        Flows from the gratefull transports of the mind
        With Poets who supernal voices raise
        And here begin their never ending layes
        With those who to the brethren of their Lord
        In all distress a warm relief afford
        With the Heroick Spirits of the brave
        Who durst be true when threatn'd with the Grave
        And when from evil in triumphant sway
        Who e'er departed made himself a prey
        To sanguine perils to penurious care
        To scanty cloathing and precarious fare
        To lingring solitude exhausting thoughts
        Unsuccour'd losses and imputed faults
        With these let me be join'd when Heaven reveals
        The judgment which admits of no appeals
        And having heard from the deciding throne
        Well have ye suffer'd wisely have ye Done
        Henceforth the Kingdom of the blest is yours
        For you unfolds its everlasting doors
        With joyfull Allelujahs let me hail
        The strength that o'er my weakness cou'd prevail
        Upheld me here and raised my feeble clay
        To this felicity for which I pray
        Thro' him whose intercession I implore
        And Heaven once enter'd prayer shall be no more
        Loud acclamations shall its place supply
        And praise the breath of Angells in the sky.

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      From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': An Apology For My Fearfull Temper

        Tis true of courage I'm no mistress
        No Boadicia nor Thalestriss
        Nor shall I e'er be famed hereafter
        For such a Soul as Cato's Daughter
        Nor active valour nor enduring
        Nor leading troops nor forts securing
        Like Teckley's wife or Pucell valiant
        Will e'er be reckonded for my talent
        Who all things fear whilst day is shining
        And my own shadow light declining
        And from the Spleen's prolifick fountain
        Can of a mole hill make a mountain
        And if a Coach that was invented
        Since Bess on Palfrey rode contented
        Threatens to tumble topsy turvy
        With screeches loud and faces scurvey
        I break discourse whilst some are laughing
        Some fall to chear me some to chaffing
        As secretly the driver curses
        And whips my fault upon the horses
        These and ten thousand are the errours
        Arising from tumultuous terrours
        Yet can't I understand the merit
        In Female's of a daring spirit
        Since to them never was imparted
        In manly strengh tho' manly hearted
        Nor need that sex be self defending
        Who charm the most when most depending
        And by sweet plaints and soft distresses
        First gain asistance then adresses
        As our fourth Edward (beauty suing)
        From but releiving fell to wooing
        Who by Heroick speech or ranting
        Had ne'er been melted to galanting
        Nor had th'Egyptian Queen defying
        Drawn off that fleet she led by flying
        Whilst Cesar and his ships crew hollow'd
        To see how Tony row'd and follow'd
        Oh Action triumph of the Ladies
        And plea for her who most afraid is
        Then let my conduct work no wonder
        When fame who cleaves the air asunder
        And every thing in time discovers
        Nor council keeps for Kings or Lovers
        Yet stoops when tired with States and battles
        To Gossips chats and idler tattles
        When she I say has given no knowledge
        Of what has happen'd at Wye College
        Think it not strange to save my Person
        I gave the family diversion
        'Twas at an hour when most were sleeping
        Some chimnies clean some wanted sweeping
        Mine thro' good fires maintain'd this winter
        (Of which no FINCH was e'er a stinter)
        Pour'd down such flakes not Etna bigger
        Throws up as did my fancy figure
        Nor does a Cannon ram'd with Powder
        To others seem to Bellow louder
        All that I thought or spoke or acted
        Can't in a letter be compacted
        Nor how I threatn'd those with burning
        Who thoughtless on their beds were turning
        As Shakespear says they serv'd old Prium
        When that the Greeks were got too nigh'em
        And such th'effect in spite of weather
        Our Hecuba's all rose together
        I at their head half cloath'd and shaking
        Was instantly the house forsaking
        And told them 'twas no time for talking
        But who'd be safe had best be walking
        This hasty councel and conclusion
        Seem'd harsh to those who had no shoes on
        And saw no flames and heard no clatter
        But as I had rehears'd the matter
        And wildly talk't of fire and water
        For sooner then 'thas took to tell it
        Right applications did repell it
        And now my fear our mirth creating
        Affords still subject for repeating
        Whilst some deplore th'unusual folly
        Some (kinder) call it melancholy
        Tho' certainly the spirits sinking
        Comes not from want of wit or thinking
        Since Rochester all dangers hated
        And left to those were harder pated.

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      From 'The Wellesley Manuscript': On The Death Of The Queen

        Dark was the shade where only cou'd be seen
        Disasterous Yew that ever balefull green
        Distructive in the field of old when strung
        Gloomy o'er graves of sleeping warriours hung
        Deep was the wild recess that not an ear
        Which grudged her praises might the accents hear
        Where sad ARDELIA mourn'd URANIA's Death
        In sighs which seem'd her own expireing breath
        In moving Sylables so often broke
        That more then Eloquence the anguish spoke
        Urging the tears which cou'd not give relief
        But seem'd to propagate renewing grief
        Lamira{4} near her sat and caught the sound
        Too weak for ecchoing rocks which fixt the bound
        For Clifts that overlook't the dangerous wave
        Th'unhappy Vessels or the Sailors grave
        The pittying Nymph whom sympathy constrain'd
        Ask't why her friend thus heavily complain'd
        Why she retired to that ill omen'd spot
        By men forsaken and the World forgot
        Why thus from light and company she fled
        And living sought the mansions of the Dead
        Her head reclined on the obdurate stone
        Still uttering low but interrupted moan
        In which URANIA she to all prefer'd
        And with her seem'd unactive or interr'd
        As if all virtues of the polish't mind
        All excellencies of the female kind
        All wining graces in Urania join'd
        As if perfection but in her was seen
        And Her least dignity was England's Queen.
        Thou hast discrib'd her pleas'd ARDELIA cry'd
        As thou hadst known her awfull without pride
        As thou in Her Domestick train hadst stood
        And seen her great and found her warmly good
        Duely maintaining her exalted place
        Yet condescending with attractive grace
        Recall'd be days when ebon locks o'erspread
        My youthfull neck my cheeks a bashfull red
        When early joys my glowing bosom warm'd
        When trifles pleas'd & every pleasure charm'd
        Then eager from the rural seat I came
        Of long traced Ancestors of worthy name
        To seek the Court of many woes the source
        Compleated by this last this sad divorce
        From her to whom my self I had resign'd
        The Sovereign Mistress of my vanquish't mind
        Who now survive but to attend her hearse
        With dutious tribute of recording verse
        In which may truth with energy be found
        And soft as her compassion be the sound
        Bless't were the hours when thro' attendance due
        Her numerous charms were present to my view
        When lowly to her radiant eyes I bowed
        Suns to my sight but Suns without a cloud
        Towards me their beneficial aspect turn'd
        Imprest my duty and my conduct warn'd
        For who that saw the modest airs they cast
        But from that pattern must be nicely chast
        Peculiar Souls have their peculiar sighs
        And thro' the eye the inward beauty shines
        Then who can wonder if in hers appear'd
        Superior sense to be reveer'd & fear'd
        Endearing sweetness to her happy friends
        And Holy fire which towards the alter tends
        Bles't my attention was when drawing near
        (My places claim) her crouded audience chair
        I heard her by admiring States addrest
        With embasies in different tongues exprest
        To all that Europe sent she gave replies
        In their own speech most eloquent & wise
        Soft was her talk and soothing to the heart
        By nature solid perfected by art
        The Roman Accent which such grace affords
        To Tuscan language harmonized her words
        All eyes all listning sense upon her hung
        When from her lovely mouth th'inchantment sprung
        What Livia was when Rome Augustus sway'de
        And thro' a woman's wit the world obey'd
        What Portia was when fortitude and love
        Inflected wounds which did her firmness prove
        And forcing Brutus to applaud her worth
        Drew with the steel th'important secret forth
        Such was URANIA where they most excell'd
        And where they fail'd by nobler zeal upheld
        What Italy produc't of glorious names
        Her native Country & her kindred Dames
        All virtues which Antiquity cou'd boast
        She equal'd but on Stormy Britain tost
        They lost their value on a northern Coast
        Yet who can wonder if to her we grant
        What Poets feign when they Diana paint
        What Legends write when they enthrone a Saint
        What now ARDELIA speaks with conscious sense
        Of Real Worth & matchless excellence
        Never such lustre strove against the light
        Never such beauty satisfied the sight
        Never such Majesty on earth was found
        As when URANIA worthyly was crown'd
        As when superior airs declared her birth
        From Conquerors o'er the Monarchs of the Earth
        And large excuse did for their Maxim bring
        That Roman Ladies stoop'd to wed a King
        If Royalty had then arose from choice
        And merit had compell'd the publick voice
        All had allow'd URANIA claimed the most
        In view of whom all other charms were lost
        Her's in Meridian strong in their decay
        But sweetly sinking like declining day
        In grief but veil'd as when a rainy cloud
        The glorious Sun does yet transparent Shroud
        And whilst it softens each resplendent beam
        Weeps o'er the land from whence the vapour came
        O'er Brittain so her Pious sorrows fell
        Less for her Woes then that it cou'd rebell
        Yet thence arose the shades her life o'ercast
        And worldly greatness seldom made to last
        Thence in a foreign clime her Consort died
        Whom death cou'd never from her thoughts divide
        Thence Sable weeds & cyprus walks she chose
        And from within produc't her own repose
        Yet only pray'd for those she cou'd not calm
        As fragrant trees tho' wounded shed but balm
        Nor ceas't to live till vindicated Heaven
        Shew'd that in vain were such examples given
        Who held her light to three great Kingdoms forth
        And gave her Sufferings to dilate her worth
        That Gallia too might see she cou'd support
        Monastick rules and Britains worst effort
        Now peacefull is the spirit which possest
        That never blemish't that afflicted breast
        Closed are such eyes as paradise might boast
        Seen but in Eve e'er innocence she lost
        The solemn grave with reverence takes her down
        And lasting wreaths succeed th'unstable crown
        For rude Huzza's in mercenary streets
        All Hail in her triumphant way she meets
        Who shall in silent Majesty repose
        Till every tomb shall every guest disclose
        Till Heaven which does all human loss repair
        Distinguishing the attoms of the fair
        Shall give URANIA's form transcendant beauty there
        And from the beams Iradiating her face
        (Which here but wanted that suspended grace)
        Shall shew the Britains how they strove in vain
        To strip that brow which was consign'd to reign
        Tho' Polititians strove to guide the round
        Of miscall'd fortune & prescribe its bound
        Till the contested Earth shou'd be no longer found.

        Here she concludes Lamira thinks it just
        Such pious tears shou'd wait such Royal Dust.

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