Retrieve lost empire to our sex, That men may bow their rebel necks. Long be the day that gave you birth Sacred to friendship, wit, and mirth; Late dying may you cast a shred Of your rich mantle o'er my head; To bear with dignity my sorrow, One day alone, then die to-morrow. TO STELLA ON HER BIRTH-DAY, 1721-2 While, Stella, to your lasting praise The Muse her annual tribute pays, While I assign myself a task Which you expect, but scorn to ask; If I perform this task with pain, Let me of partial fate complain; You every year the debt enlarge, I grow less equal to the charge: In you each virtue brighter shines, But my poetic vein declines; My harp will soon in vain be strung, And all your virtues left unsung. For none among the upstart race Of poets dare assume my place; Your worth will be to them unknown, They must have Stellas of their own; And thus, my stock of wit decay'd, I dying leave the debt unpaid, Unless Delany, as my heir, Will answer for the whole arrear. ON THE GREAT BURIED BOTTLE BY DR. DELANY Amphora, quae moestum linquis, laetumque revises Arentem dominum, sit tibi terra levis. Tu quoque depositum serves, neve opprime, marmor; Amphora non meruit tam pretiosa mori. EPITAPH BY THE SAME Hoc tumulata jacet proles Lenaea sepulchro, Immortale genus, nee peritura jacet; Quin oritura iterum, matris concreditur alvo: Bis natum referunt te quoque, Bacche Pater. STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY: A GREAT BOTTLE OF WINE, LONG BURIED, BEING THAT DAY DUG UP. 1722-3