Disarm'd with so genteel an air, The contest I give o'er; Yet Alexander have a care, And shock the sex no more. We rule the world our life's whole race, Men but assume that right; First slaves to ev'ry tempting face, Then martyrs to our spite. You of one Orpheus sure have read, Who would like you have writ Had he in London-town been bred, And polish'd too his wit; But he poor soul, thought all was well And great should be his fame, When he had left his wife in hell And birds, and beasts could tame. Yet venturing then with scoffing rhimes The women to incense, Resenting heroines of those times Soon punished his offence. And as the Hebrus roll'd his skull, And Harp besmeared with blood, They clashing as the waves grew full Still harmoniz'd the flood. But you our follies gently treat, And spin so fine the thread, You need not fear his awkward fate, The lock won't cost the head. Our admiration you command For all that's gone before; What next we look for at your hand Can only raise it more. Yet sooth the ladies, I advise (As me too pride has wrought) We're born to wit, but to be wise By admonitions taught. The other pieces of this lady are, An Epilogue to Jane Shore, to be spoken by Mrs. Oldfield the night before the Poet's day. To the Countess of Hertford with her Volume of Poems. The Prodigy, a Poem, written at Tunbridge-Wells 1706, on the Admiration that many expressed on a Gentleman's being in love, and their Endeavours to dissuade him from it, with some Advice to the young Ladies how to maintain their natural Prerogative. If all her other poetical compositions are executed with as much spirit and elegance as these, the lovers of poetry have some reason to be sorry that her station was such, as to exempt her from the necessity of more frequently exercising a genius so furnished by nature, to have made a great figure in that divine art. * * * * * CHARLES GILDON.