Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455518" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Lady Who Commanded Me To Send Her An Account In Verse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How I succeed, you kindly ask;<br>Yet set me on a grievous Task,<br>When you oblige me to rehearse,<br>The Censures past upon my Verse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tho' I with Pleasure may relate,<br>That many, truly good, and great,<br>With candid Eye my Lines survey,<br>And smile upon the artless Lay;<br>To those with grateful Heart I bend --<br>But your Commands I must attend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SERVILLA cries, I hate a Wit;<br>Women should to their Fate submit,<br>Should in the Needle take Delight;<br>'Tis out of Character to write:<br>She may succeed among the Men;<br>They tell me, Swift subscribes for Ten;<br>And some say, Dorset does the same;<br>But she shall never have my Name:<br>Her Poetry has cost me dear;<br>When Lady Carteret was here,<br>The Widow Gordon got my Guinea;<br>For which I own myself a Ninny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">OLIVIA loses oft at Play;<br>So will not throw her Gold away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus Silvia, of the haughty Tribe:<br>She never ask'd me to subscribe,<br>Nor ever wrote a Line on me,<br>I was no Theme for Poetry!<br>She rightly judg'd; I have no Taste --<br>For Womens Poetry, at least.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Fulvia made this sage Reply;<br>(And look'd with self--sufficient Eye<br>I oft have said, and say again,<br>Verses are only writ by Men;<br>I know a Woman cannot write;<br>I do not say this out of Spite;<br>Nor shall be thought, by those who know me,<br>To envy one so much below me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SABINA, fam'd in Wisdom's School,<br>Allows I write--but am a Fool:<br>``What!--must our Sons be form'd by Rhyme?<br>``A fine Way to employ one's Time!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ALBINO has no gold to waste,<br>Far gone in the Italian Taste:<br>He vows he must subscribe this Year,<br>To keep dear Carestini here;<br>Not from a narrow Party View;<br>He doats on Senesino too;<br>By Turns their Int'rest he'll espouse;<br>He's for the public Good, he vows;<br>A gen'rous Ardor fires his Breast.<br>Hail, Britain, in such Patriots blest!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Says Belvidera, Since a Wit<br>Or Friend or Foe alike will hit,<br>Deliver me from Wits, I say;<br>Grant Heav'n, they ne'er may cross my Way!<br>Besides, I oft have heard it hinted,<br>Her Poems never will be printed:<br>Her Sickness is a Feint, no doubt,<br>To keep her Book from coming out.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of Wit, says Celia, I'll acquit her;<br>Then archly fell into a Titter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Female Bard! Pulvillio cries;<br>'Tis possible she may be wise;<br>But I could never find it yet,<br>Tho' oft in Company we met:<br>She talks just in the common Way:<br>Sure Wits their Talents should display;<br>Their Language surely should be bright,<br>Before they should pretend to write:<br>I'll ne'er subscribe for Books, says he;<br>'Fore Gad, it looks like Pedantry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High--born Belinda loves to blame;<br>On Criticism founds her Fame:<br>When--e'er she thinks a Fault she spies<br>How Pleasure sparkles in her Eyes!<br>Call it not Poetry, she says;<br>No -- Call it Rhyming, if you please:<br>Her Numbers might adorn a Ring,<br>Or serve along the Streets to sing:<br>Stella and Flavia's well enough;<br>What else I saw, was stupid Stuff;<br>Nor Love nor Satire in her Lays,<br>Insipid! neither pain nor please:<br>I promis'd once to patronize her;<br>But on Reflection, I was wiser:<br>Yet I subscrib'd among the rest;<br>I love to carry on a Jest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">BELINDA thus her Anger shows,<br>Nor tells the World, from whence it flows:<br>With more Success to wound my Lays,<br>She gilds the Dart with other Praise:<br>To her own Breast I leave the Fair<br>Convinc'd I stand acquitted there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">AMANDA, your Commands, you see,<br>Tho' grievous, are obey'd by me.<br>What my Friends told me had been said,<br>Just as it came into my Head,<br>No matter for the Place or Time,<br>To shew your Pow'r, I tag with Rhyme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now let some News salute your Ear,<br>Tho' I have weary'd you, I fear:<br>Know, --- has Vengeance vow'd,<br>And in the Furies Temple bow'd:<br>He but suspends his Wrath, he says,<br>Till he can criticise my Lays.<br>Malice, thy Rancour I expect,<br>And shall return it--with Neglect:<br>Go on, display your treasur'd Rage;<br>Invectives shall not blot my Page:<br>What real Faults you note, I'll mend:<br>Proceed, your Efforts I attend;<br>Taught early, Dryden, by thy Song,<br>They ne'er forgive, who do the Wrong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now to the Muse I bid Adieu;<br>Nor rail at her, as Poets do:<br>Protected by the Good and Great,<br>I'll not repine, but bless my Fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You, Madam, who your Sex adorn,<br>Who Malice and Detraction scorn,<br>Who with superior Sense are bless'd,<br>Of ev'ry real Worth possess'd;<br>With Eye indulgent view my Lays:<br>You know to blame, but love to praise:<br>You know my Faults, and know beside,<br>I want not to be mortify'd.<br>One Merit I presume to boast,<br>And dare to plead but one at most:<br>The Muse I never have debas'd;<br>My Lays are innocent at least;<br>Were ever ardently design'd<br>To mend and to enlarge the Mind.<br>This must be own'd a virtuous Aim.<br>The Praise of Wit--let others claim.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=455518" data-title="To A Lady Who Commanded Me To Send Her An Account In Verse de Mary Barber" data-description="How I succeed, you kindly ask;
Yet set me on a grievous Task,
When you oblige me to rehearse,
The Censures past upon my Verse.

Tho' I with Pleasure may relate,
That many, truly good, and great,
With candid Eye my Lines survey,
And smile upon the ..."></div>
</div>
</div>