The dedication is followed by a commendatory copy of verses, addressed to the publisher, and signed Philomusus; of which most readers will think the following lines a sufficient specimen: Hence issues forth a most delightful song, Fair as their sex, and as their judgment strong; Moving its force, and tempting in its ease; Secured of fame, unknowing to displease; Its every word like Aganippe, clear, And close its meaning, and its sense severe: As virtuous thoughts with chaste expression join, And make them truly, what they feign, divine. The poems of these divine ladies, as their eulogist phrases them, appear in the following order: _Melpomene_, the Tragic Muse, personated by Mrs Manley, refers to his elegies and tragedies. Melpomene sorrows for him: Who sorrowed Killigrew’s untimely fall, And more than Roman made her funeral; Inspired by me, for me he could command, Bright Abingdon’s rich monument shall stand For evermore the wonder of the land; Oldham he snatched from an ignoble fate, Changed his cross star for one more fortunate; For who would not with pride resign his breath, To be so loved, to be so blest in death? The eulogiums on Cromwell and Charles then praised. Of the last it is said, For this alone he did deserve the prize, As Ranelagh, for her victorious eyes. Cleopatra and St Catharine are mentioned; then ----Dorax and Sebastian both contend To shew the generous enemy and friend. _Urania_, the Divine Muse, by the Honourable the Lady Peirce. This lady, after much tragic dole, is wonderfully comforted by recollecting that Garth survives, though Dryden is dead: More I’ll not urge, but know, our wishes can No higher soar, since Garth’s the glorious man; Him let us constitute in Dryden’s stead, Let laurels ever flourish on his head. Urania, after mentioning Virgil, exclaims, O give us Homer yet, thou glorious bard! _Erato_, the Amorous Muse, by Mrs S. Field. She claims the merit of Dryden’s love poems, on the following grounds: Oft I for ink did radiant nectar bring, And gave him quills from infant Cupid’s wing. _Euterpe_, the Lyric Muse, by Mrs J. E. Euterpe, of course, pours forth her sorrow in a scrambling Pindaric ode: But, oh! they could not stand the rage Of an ill-natured and lethargic age, Who, spite of wit, would stupidly be wise; All noble raptures, extasies despise, And only plodders after sense will prize. Euterpe eulogizeth Garth, whom the god of wisdom did foredoom, And stock with eloquence, to pay thy tomb The most triumphant rites of ancient Rome. Euterpe is true to her own character; for one may plod in vain after sense through her lyric effusion.