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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455508" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Prodigy.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tho' Rhyme serves the Thoughts of great Poets to fetter,<br>It sets off the Sense of small Poets the better.<br>When I've written in Prose, I often have found,<br>That my Sense, in a Jumble of Words, was quite drown'd.<br>In Verse, as in Armies, that march o'er the Plain,<br>The least Man among them is seen without Pain.<br>This they owe to good Order, it must be allow'd;<br>Else Men that are little, are lost in a Croud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So much for Simile: Now, to be brief,<br>The following Lines come to tell you my Grief.<br>'Tis well I can write; for I scarcely can speak,<br>I'm so plagu'd with my Teeth, which eternally ake.<br>When the Wind's in the Point which opposes the south,<br>For Fear of the Cold, I can't open my Mouth:<br>And you know, to the Sex it must be a Heart--breaking,<br>To have any Distemper, that keeps them from speaking.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When first I was silent a Day and a Night,<br>The Women were all in a terrible Fright.<br>Supplications to Jove, in an Instant, they make--<br>``Avert the Portent--a Woman not speak!<br>``Since Poets are Prophets, and often have sung,<br>``The last Thing that dies in a Woman's her Tongue;<br>``O Jove, for what Crime is Sapphira thus curst?<br>``'Tis plain by her Breathing, her Tongue has dy'd first.<br>``Ye Powers celestial, tell Mortals, what Cause<br>``Occasions Dame nature to break her own Laws?<br>``Did the Preacher live now, from his Text he must run;<br>``And own there was something new under the Sun.<br>``O Jove, for the future this Punishment spare;<br>``And all other Evils we'll willingly bear.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then they throng to my House, and my Maid they beseech,<br>To say, if her Mistress had quite lost her Speech.<br>Nell readily own'd, what they heard was too true;<br>That To--day I was dumb, give the Devil his Due:<br>And frankly confess'd, were it always the Case,<br>No Servant could e'er have a happier Place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When they found it was Fact, they began all to fear me;<br>And, dreading Infection, would scarcely come near me:<br>Till a Neighbour of mine, who was famous for Speeching,<br>Bid them be of good Cheer, the Difease was not catching;<br>And offer'd to prove, from Authors good Store,<br>That the like Case with this never happen'd before;<br>And if Ages to come should resemble the past,<br>As 'twas the first Instance, it would be the last.<br>Yet against this Disorder we all ought to strive:<br>Were I in her Case, I'd been bury'd alive.<br>Were I one Moment silent, except in my Bed,<br>My good natur'd Husband would swear I was dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The next said, her Tongue was so much in her Pow'r,<br>She was sullenly silent almost--half an Hour:<br>That, to vex her good Man, she took this Way to<br>But soon left it off, when she found it would please him:<br>And vow'd, for the future, she'd make the Housering;<br>For when she was dumb, he did nothing but sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quite tir'd with their Talking, I held down my Head:<br>So she who sat next me, cry'd out, I was dead.<br>They call'd for cold Water to throw in my Face:<br>Give her Air, give her Air--and cut open her Lace.<br>Says good Neighbour Nevil, You're out of your Wits;<br>She oft, to my Knowledge, has these sullen Fits:<br>Let her Husband come in, and make one Step that's wrong,<br>My Life for't, the Woman will soon find her Tongue.<br>You'll soon be convinc'd--O' my Conscience, he's here--<br>Why what's all this Rout?--Are you sullen, my Dear?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This struck them all silent; which gave me some Ease.<br>And made them imagine they'd got my Disease.<br>So they hasted away in a terrible Fright;<br>And left me, in Silence, to pass the long Night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not the Women alone were scar'd at my Fate;<br>'Twas reckon'd of dreadful Portent to the State.<br>When the Governors heard it, they greatly were troubled;<br>And, whilst I was silent, the Guards were all doubled:<br>The Militia Drums beat a perpetual Alarm,<br>To rouze up the Sons of the City to arm.<br>A Story was rumour'd about from Lambey,<br>Of a powerful Fleet, that was seen off at Sea.<br>With Horror all list to the terrible Tale;<br>The Barristers tremble, the Judges grow pale;<br>To the Castle the frighted Nobility fly;<br>And the Council were summon'd, they could not tell why;<br>The Clergy in Crouds to the Churches repair;<br>And Armies, embattled, were seen in the Air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why they were in this Fright, I have lately been told,<br>It seems, it was sung by a Druid of old,<br>That the Hanover Race to Great--Britain should come;<br>And sit on the Throne, till a Woman grew dumb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As soon as this Prophecy reach'd the Pretender,<br>He cry'd out, My Claim to the Crown I surrender.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Barber">Mary Barber</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455508" data-title="The Prodigy. de Mary Barber" data-description="Tho' Rhyme serves the Thoughts of great Poets to fetter,
It sets off the Sense of small Poets the better.
When I've written in Prose, I often have found,
That my Sense, in a Jumble of Words, was quite drown'd.
In Verse, as in Armies, that march o'..."></div>
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