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That it the mother of the gods might pose,
When the best woman for her guide the chosc:
But if Apollo Ibould delign
A woman Laureat to make,
Without dispute he would Orinda take,
Tho' Sappho and the famous Nine
Stood by, and did repine.
To be a princess or a queen:
Is great, but 'tis a greatness always seen;
The world did never but two women know
Who, one by fraud, th' other by wit, did rise
To the two tops of sp'ritual dignities,
One female Pope of old, one female Poet now.

Of female poets, who had names of old,
Nothing is shown, but only told,
And all we hear of them perhaps may be
Male-fatt'ry only, and male-poetry!
Few minutes did their beauties’ lightning waste,
The thunder of their voice did longer laft,
But that, too, soon was past.
The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit
In her own lasting characters are writ,
And they will long my praise of them survive,
'Tho' long, perhaps, too, that may live.
T'he trade of glory manag'd by the pen,
Tho'great it be, and every where is found,
Does bring in but small profit to us men;
'Tis by the number of the sharers drown'd:

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Orinda on the female coasts of Fame
Engrosses all the goods of a poctio namo:
She does no partner with her fee,
Does all the bus'ness there alone, which weI
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.:


But wit's like a luxuriant vine,
Unless to Virtue's propit join,

Firm and erect towards heav'n bound; [crown'd,
Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be
It lies deform’d, and rotting on the ground...
Now shame and blushes on us all,
Who our own fex fuperior call!

75 Orinda does our boasting sex outdo, Not in wit only, but in virtue too: She does above our best examples rise In hate of vice and scorn of vanities. Never did fpirit of the manly make,

80 And dipp'd all o'er in Learning's facred lake, A temper more invulnerable take. No violent passion could an entrance find Into the tender goodness of her mind; Thro' walls of stone those furious bullets may

85 Force their impetuous way ; When her soft breast they hit, pow'rless and dead they


[lay. The fame of Friendship which so long had told Of three or four illustrious names of old,


Till hoarse and weary with the tale he grew,
Rejoices now to 'ave got a new,
A new, and more surprising story,
Of fair Leucafra'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 ftrive
To understand and practise here,
That he may come no stranger there;
So well Orinda did herself prepare,
In this much-different clime, for her remove
To the glad world of Poetry and Love.

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To the truly worthy and noble SIR KENELM DIG BY, KNIGHT*. Tuis latter age, the lees of time, has known Few that have made both Pallas' arts their own; But you, great Sir ! two laurels wear, and are : Victorious in peace as well as war : Learning by right of conqueft is your own,

. And every lib'ral art your captive grown; As if neglected Science (for it now Wants fome defenders) Aled for help to you; Whom I must follow, and let this for me An earnest of my future fervice be; Which I should fear to send you, did I know Your judgment only, not your candour too: For 'twas a work stoll'n (tho' you'll justly call This play as fond as those) from Cat or Ball. Had it been written fince; I should, I fear, 15 Scarce have abstain'd from a philosopher, Which by tradition here is thought to be A necessary part in comedy.'»', Nor need I tell you this; cach line of it Betrays the time and place wherein 'twas writ; • This poem is prefixed to the pastoral comedy of Love's

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And I could wish that I could safely say,
Reader, this play was made but th' other day.
Yet 'tis not stuff 'd with names of gods, hard words,
Such as the Metamorphoses affords;
Nor has't a part for Robinson, whom they 25
At school account essential to a play.
The style is low, such as you'll easily take
For what a swain might say, and a boy make.
Take it, as early fruits, which rare appear,
Tho' not half ripe, but worst of all the year;

30 And if it please your taste, my Muse will fay, The birch which crown'd her then is grown a bay. 32



Tue Author bid me tell you~--'Faith I have
Forgot what 'twas; and I'm a very Nave
If I know what to say ; but only this,
Be merty; that my counsel always is.
Let no grave man knit up his brow, and say
'Tis foolis... why? 'twas a boy made the play ;
Nor any yet of those that sit behind,
Because he goes in plush, be of his mind. :
Let none his time, or his spent money, grieve:
Be merry; give me your hands, and I'll believe: 10
Or if you will not, I'll go in and see
If I can turn the Author's mind, with me

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