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Show U p o n Mrs. Philips her Poems. .£ allow d you beautJ, and we did fubmit To all the tyrannies of it. Ah cruel Sex ! will you depofe us too in Wit ? Or in da does in that too reign, Does man behind her in proud triumph draw, And cancel!great ApolloV Salick Law. We our old Title plead in vain : Man may be Head, but $Yomaris now the Brain. Verfe was Love s fire-arms heretofore : In Beauties Camp it was not known, Too many arms be fide that Conqueror bore. 'Twos the great Cannon we brought down, T' aflault a flubborn Town. Orinda firfl did a bold folly make, Our flrongefl quarter take, And fo fuccefsful prov d that Jbe Turnd upon Love himfelf his own Artillery. 2. Women, as if the Body were the whole, Did that, and not the Soul, Tranfmit to their poflerity , If in it fome times they cowceivd, Tlf abortive IJfue never livd. 'Twcre fbame and pity, Orinda, if in thee A fpirit fo rich, fo noble, and fo high, Should unmanurd or barren lie. But thou induflrioufly hafl fowd and tilld The fair and fruitful field : And 'tis a flrange increofe that it doth yield. As when the happy Gods above Meet all together at a Feafl, A fecret joy unfleakably does move In their great Mother Cybeles contented breafl : With With no I fs pleafure thou, fnethinks, fbouldflfse This thy no lefs immortal Progeny, And in their Birth thou no one touch doflflnd, Of tld ancient Cnrfe to Woman-kind^ Thou bringfl not forth with pain, It neither Travel is, nor Labor of thy Brain. So eafily tfjey from thee come, And there isfo much roomi In the uncxhaufled and unfathom'd womb. That, Lkg the Holland Countefs, thou mightfl bear A Child for e<vry day of all the fertile year. Thou dofl my Wonder, wouldfl my Envy raife^ If to be praisd I lovd more than to praife. Where e'er I fee an excellence, I nnfl admire to fee thy well-knit Seme, Thy Numbers gentle, and thy Fancies high, Thofe as thy Forehead fmooth, thefe fparising as thine Eye* 'Tis folid, and tis manly all, Or rather, 'tis Angelical : For, as in Angels, we Do in thy Verfes fee Both improvd Sexes eminently meet; They are than Man more fir ong, and more than Womanfrveet* They talk of Nine, I know not who, Female Chimaeras, that o'er Poets reign j I ne'er could find that Fancy true, But have invokd them oft Tm fure in vain. They talk °f Sappho, but, alas the fbame! Ill manners foil the luflre of her fame. Orinda\r inward Virtue is fo bright, That, like a Lanterns fair enclofed light, It through the Paper Jhines where fhe doth write. , Honor |
