O excellent Rowe, much Britain does owe To what you’ve ingen’ously penn’d: Of virtue and wit, the model you’ve hit; Who reads must you ever commend. Would ladies pursue, the paths trod by you, And jointly to learning aspire, The men soon would yield unto them the field, And critics in silence admire. UPON _A YOUNG LADY’S_ BREAKING A LOOKING-GLASS. As round the room, with tentless speed, Young Delia tripp’d it finely, A looking-glass, so Fate decreed, She broke, but not design’dly. A looking-glass of ancient date, Its fall the belles lamented; But all their sorrow prov’d too late, Its ruin none prevented. When Anne the British sceptre sway’d, ’Twas plac’d in firm position; Nor did a forward chamber-maid E’er alter its condition. No mirror better could descry Th’ embrio of a pimple; The rheum on a neglected eye; The hoary hair or wrinkle. Long time it did the chimney grace, So awkward now and empty; Its with a vengeance chang’d its place, And broke in pieces twenty. O Delia! mourn thy direful fate, A thousand ills portending! Black omens now thy stars await, ’Gainst which there’s no defending. Poor Delia now, bedew’d with tears And piti’d by acquaintance, Resolv’d to spend full fifteen years, In doleful, deep repentance. Do tears these lovely cheeks distain, By thousand charms surrounded! These eyes from weeping do refrain; Their glance have many wounded. T’ adorn thy more accomplish’d mind, Each radient grace conspires: Hence dread thou not their dark design, Though rage each demon fires. Let hope diffuse a gentle ray, These magic spells defying: Let prudence Delia’s footsteps sway, On virtue still relying. But know the rake’s alluring smile, The heedless fair bewitches: Let no fond youth your heart beguile, By soft enticing speeches. And if good counsel aught avail, Attend Diana’s classes: For mind our sex is ever frail, And brittle as our glasses. AN ACROSTIC UPON A YOUNG WOMAN, _WRITTEN BY HER LOVER_. Hail sweetest charmer of the rural plain, Accept the tribute of a humble swain; Nor frown, tho’ he presumpt’ous would essay; No muse your matchless beauties can display. All that is feign’d of the fair Cyprian queen, Here in this lovely damsel may be seen. In her fair form is ev’ry grace combin’d; Virtue and modesty adorn her mind. If Milton’s eloquence did grace my lays, Sure it would fail, and speak but half her praise. O Cupid fix an arrow in her breast! No more I’d wish, were I of her possess’d. AN _EXTEMPORARY_ ACROSTIC.