To the Ingenious AUTHOUR, Mrs. IANE BARKER, ON HER POEMS.
AS in the ancient Chaos, from whose Womb
The Universe did come;
All things confus’d, disorder’d were,
No signs o’th’ luster, which did after grace
The whole Creation’s face;
Nothing of Beauty did appear,
But all was a continu’d boundless space,
Till the Almighty’s powerfull Command,
Whose Action ev’r more quick than thought,
The Infant World out of confusion brought;
Whose all-commanding hand,
With Beasts & Trees did bounteously adorn the fruit∣full Land.
So where my Thoughts, if Thoughts can be
Design’d from Wit, and Poetrie,
Nothing but Ignorance appear’d,
Dull ignorance, and folly too,
With all that Crew,
And home-bred Darkness held the regencie,
Till your Almighty Pen
This Chaos clear’d,
And of old arm’d Men,
Strange Miracles rose out o’th’ Earth:
So to your charming Wit I owe
These Verses, ’tis your Word that makes them so;
Which rais’d from such a barren ground,
Strive to resound
Your praise, who by such harmless Magick gave them Birth.
And as the Heav’ns, to which we all things owe,
Scarce own those Bounties which they do bestow:
So you’re as kind as they,
Submit your kinder influence,
To be by us determin’d, us obey;
And still from them
Give us ev’n for our weakness a reward,
To Merit: Or if any thing we doe,
Worth praise, though solely it proceed from you,
Yet for our smallest diligence you doubly do repay.
St. Iohn’s Colledge.
© Jane Barker