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To Madam IANE BARKER, On Her Incomparable POEMS.
SOon as some envious Angel's willing hand
Snatch'd Great Orinda srom our happy Land;
The Great Orinda, whose Seraphick Pen
Triumph'd o'er Women, and out-brav'd ev'n Men:
Then our Male-Poets modestly thought fit,
To claim the honour'd Primacy in Wit;
But, lo, the Heiress of that Ladies Muse,
Rivals their Merits, and their Sence out-do's;
With swifter flights of fancy wings her Verse,
And nobler Greatness valiant Acts reherse.
Her Modish Muse abhors a constant dress,
Appears each day in fineries afresh:
Sometimes in pompous Grandeur she do's nobly stalk,
Then clad in tragick Buskins do's Majestick walk;
She swells in blushing Purple, or looks big in Arms,
Proclaims destructive Wars, & triumphs in Alar'ms;