After this I took a Vessel and put off from that shore, where, thô I had met with many Misfortunes, I had also receiv’d a thousand joys: While it was in view I found myself toucht with some regret, but being sail’d out of sight of it, I sigh’d no more, but bid adieu to fond Love for ever. All you Beauties and Attractions, That make so many hearts submit; Soft inspirers of affection, Mistresses of dear bought wit; To whose Empire we resigning Prove our homage justly due, After all our sighs and whining Dear delight we bid adieu. After all your fond _Caprices_, All your Arts to seem Divine, Painting, Patching and your Dresses, Easy votaryes to incline; After all your couzening _Billets_, Sighs and tears, but all untrue, To your Gilting tricks and quillets, I for ever bid adieu. A MISCELLANY OF POEMS. _On the Honourable Sir_ Francis Fane, _on his Play call’d the_ Sacrifice, _by Mrs._ A. B. Long have our Priests condemn’d a wicked Age, } And every little criticks sensless rage } Damn’d a forsaken self-declining stage: } Great ‘tis confest and many are our crimes, And no less profligate the vitious times, But yet no wonder both prevail so ill, The Poets fury and the Preachers skill; While to the World it is so plainly known They blame our faults with great ones of their own, Let their dull Pens flow with unlearned spight And weakly censure what the skilful write; You, learned Sir, a nobler passion shew, Our best of rules and best example too. Precepts and grave instructions dully move, The brave Performer better do’s improve, Ver’st in the truest Satyr you excel And shew how ill we write by writing well. This noble Piece which well deserves your name I read with pleasure thô I read with shame. The tender Laurels which my brows had drest Flag, like young Flowers, with too much heat opprest. The generous fire I felt in every line Shew’d me the cold, the feeble, force of mine. Henceforth I’le you for imitation chuse Your nobler flights will wing my Callow Muse; So the young Eagle is inform’d to fly } By seeing the Monarch Bird ascend the sky. } And thô with less success her strength she’l try, } Spreads her soft plumes and his vast tracks persues Thô far above the towring Prince she views: High as she can she’ll bear your deathless fame, And make my song Immortal by your name. But where the work is so Divinely wrought, The rules so just and so sublime each thought, When with so strict an Art your scenes are plac’d With wit so new, and so uncommon, grac’d, In vain, alas! I should’st attempt to tell Where, or in what, your Muse do’s most excel.