Ephelia

England

To Madam Bhen.

Madam! permit a Muse, that has been long
Silent with wonder, now to find a Tongue:
Forgive that Zeal I can no longer hide,
And pardon a necessitated Pride.
When first your strenuous polite Lines I read,
At once it Wonder and Amazement bred,
To see such things flow from a Woman's Pen,
As might be Envied by the wittiest Men:
You write so sweetly, that at once you move,
The Ladies' Jealousies, and Gallant's(2) Love;
Passions so gentle, and so well expressed,
As needs must be the same fill your own Breast;
Then Rough again, as your Enchanting Quill
Commanded Love, or Anger at your Will:
As in your Self, so in your Verses meet,
A rare connection of Strong and Sweet:
This I admired at, and my Pride to show,
Have took the Vanity to tell you so
In humble Verse, that has the Luck to please
Some Rustic Swains, or silly(3) Shepherdess:
But far unfit to reach your Sacred Ears,
Or stand your Judgment: Oh! my conscious Fears
Check my Presumption, yet I must go on,
And finish the rash Task I have begun.
Condemn it Madam, if you please, to th' Fire,
It gladly will your Sacrifice expire,
As sent by one, that rather chose to shew
Her want of Skill, than want of Zeal to you.
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