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To ASTRAEA, on her Poems.
'TIS not enough to reade and to admire,
Thy sacred Verse does nobler thoughts inspire,
Striking on every breast Poetick fire:
The God of Wit attends with chearfull Rays,
Warming the dullest Statue into praise.
Hail then, delight of Heaven and pride of Earth,
Blest by each Muse at thy auspicious birth;
Soft Love and Majesty have fram'd thy Mind,
To shew the Beauties of both Sexes join'd:
Thy Lines may challenge, like young David's face,
A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace;
Thy tender notions in loose numbers flow,
With a strange power to charm where e'er they go:
And when in stronger sounds thy voice we hear,
At all the skilfull points you arm'd appear.
Which way so'er thou dost thy self express,
We find thy Beauty out in every dress;
Such work so gently wrought, so strongly fine,
Cannot be wrought by hands all Masculine.
In vain proud Man weak Woman wou'd controul,
No Man can argue now against a Woman's Soul.
J. C.