ON COLONEL TUKE'S TRAGI-COMEDY, THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS,
S when our kings (lords of the fpacious main) Take in just wars a rich plate-fleet of Spain, The rude unshapen ingots they reduce
Into a form of beauty and of use ;
On which the conqueror's image now does shine,
Not his whom it belong'd to in the mine:
So, in the mild contentions of the Mufe
(The war which Peace itself loves and pursues)
So have you home to us in triumph brought
This Cargazon of Spain with treasures fraught.
You have not bafely gotten it by stealth,
Nor by tranflation borrow'd all its wealth;
But by a powerful spirit made it your own ;
Metal before, money by you 'tis grown.
'Tis current now, by your adorning it
With the fair ftamp of your victorious wit.
But, though we praise this voyage of your mind,
And though ourselves enrich'd by it we find ;
We're not contented yet, because we know
What greater stores at home within it 'grow.
We 've feen how well you foreign ores refine;
Produce the gold of your own nobler mine :
The world shall then our native plenty view,
And fetch materials for their wit from you;
They all shall watch the travails of your pen,
And Spain on you shall make reprisals then.
RUEL Difeafe! ah, could not it fuffice
Thy old and constant spite to exercise
Against the gentleft and the fairest sex,
Which fill thy depredations moft do vex ?
Where ftill thy malice moft of all
(Thy malice or thy luft) does on the fairest fall
And in them most affault the fairest place,
The throne of emprefs Beauty, ev'n the face?
There was enough of that here to affuage,
(One would have thought) either thy luft or rage.
Was 't not enough, when thou, prophane Disease!
Didft on this glorious temple feize?
Was 't not enough, like a wild zealot, there,
All the rich outward ornaments to tear,
Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images?
Was 't not enough thus rudely to defile,
But thou must quite deftroy, the goodly pile?
And thy unbounded facrilege commit
On th' inward holieft holy of her wit?
Cruel Difeafe! there thou miftook'st thy power;
No mine of death can that devour;
On her embalmed name it will abide
An everlasting pyramid,
As high as heaven the top, as earth the bafis wide.
All ages paft record, all countries now
In various kinds fuch equal beauties show,
That ev'n judge Paris would not know
On whom the golden apple to bestow ;
Though Goddesses t' his fentence did submit,
Women and lovers would appeal from it :
Nor durft he say, of all the female race,
This is the fovereign face.
And fome (though these be of a kind that 's rare,
That 's much, ah, much less frequent than the fair)
So equally renown'd for virtue are,
That it the mother of the Gods might pose,
When the best woman for her guide she chose.
But if Apollo should design
A woman Laureat to make,
Without dispute he would Orinda take,
Though Sappho and the famous Nine
Stood by, and did repine.
To be a princess, or a queen,
Is great; but 'tis a greatness always feen :-
The world did never but two women know,
Who, one by fraud, th' other by wit, did rise
To the two tops of fpiritual dignities;
One female pope of old, one female poet now..
Of female poets, who had names of old,,
Nothing is fhown, but only told,
And all we hear of them perhaps may be
Male-flattery only, and male-poetry.
Few minutes did their beauty's lightning wafte,
The thunder of their voice did longer last,
But that too foon was past.
The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit
In her own lafting characters are writ,
And they will long my praise of them survive,
Though long perhaps, too, that may live.
The trade of glory, manag'd by the pen,
Though great it be, and every where is found,
Does bring in but small profit to us men;
'Tis, by the number of the fharers, drown'd.
Orinda, on the female coafts of Fame,
Ingroffes all the goods of a poetic name;
She does no partner with her fee ;
Does all the bufinefs there alone, which we
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.
But wit 's like a luxuriant vine;
Unless to virtue's prop it join,
Firm and erect towards heaven bound;
Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit
be crown'd,
It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground.
Now fhame and blushes on us all,
Who our own fex fuperior call!
Orinda does our boasting sex out-do,
Not in wit only, but in virtue too:
She does above our beft examples rife,
In hate of vice and fcorn of vanities.
Never did spirit of the manly make,
And dip'd all o'er in Learning's facred lake,
A temper more invulnerable take.
No violent paffion could an entrance find
Into the tender goodnefs of her mind :
Through walls of stone thofe furious bullets may
Force their impetuous way;
When her foft breaft they hit, powerlefs and dead they lay!
The fame of Friendship, which fo long had told
Of three or four illuftrious names of old,
Till hoarfe and weary with the tale fhe grew,
Rejoices now t' have got a new,
A new and more furprizing story,
Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory.
As when a prudent man does once perceive
That in fome foreign country he must live,
The language and the manners he does strive
To understand and practice here,
That he may come no ftranger there :
So well Orinda did herfelf prepare,
In this much different clime, for her remove
To the glad world of Poetry and Love.
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