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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455895" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Epistle to a Lady</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain, dear Madam, yes in vain you strive;<br>Alas! to make your luckless Mira thrive,<br>For Tycho and Copernicus agree,<br>No golden Planet bent its Rays on me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis twenty Winters, if it is no more;<br>To speak the Truth it may be Twenty four.<br>As many Springs their 'pointed Space have run,<br>Since Mira's Eyes first open'd on the Sun.<br>'Twas when the Flocks on slabby Hillocks lie,<br>And the cold Fishes rule the wat'ry Sky:<br>But tho these Eyes the learned Page explore,<br>And turn the pond'rous Volumes o'er and o'er,<br>I find no Comfort from their Systems flow,<br>But am dejected more as more I know.<br>Hope shines a while, but like a Vapour flies,<br>(The Fate of all the Curious and the Wise) <br>For, Ah! cold Saturn triumph'd on that Day,<br>And frowning Sol deny'd his golden Ray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You see I'm learned, and I shew't the more,<br>That none may wonder when they find me poor.<br>Yet Mira dreams, as slumbring Poets may,<br>And rolls in Treasures till the breaking Day:<br>While Books and Pictures in bright Order rise,<br>And painted Parlours swim before her Eyes:<br>Till the shrill Clock impertinently rings,<br>And the soft Visions move their shining Wings:<br>Then Mira wakes,-- her Pictures are no more,<br>And through her Fingers slides the vanish'd Ore.<br>Convinc'd too soon, her Eye unwilling falls<br>On the blue Curtains and the dusty Walls:<br>She wakes, alas! to Business and to Woes,<br>To sweep her Kitchen, and to mend her Clothes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But see pale Sickness with her languid Eyes,<br>At whose Appearance all Delusion flies:<br>The World recedes, its Vanities decline,<br>Clorinda's Features seem as faint as mine!<br>Gay Robes no more the aching Sight admires,<br>Wit grates the Ear, and melting Music tires:<br>Its wonted pleasures with each sense decay,<br>Books please no more, and paintings fade away,<br>The sliding Joys in misty Vapours end:<br>Yet let me still, Ah! let me grasp a Friend:<br>And when each Joy, when each lov'd Object flies,<br>Be you the last that leaves my closing Eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But how will this dismantl'd Soul appear,<br>When stripp'd of all it lately held so dear,<br>Forc'd from its Prison of expiring Clay,<br>Afraid and shiv'ring at the doubtful Way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet did these Eyes a dying Parent see,<br>Loos'd from all Cares except a Thought for me,<br>Without a Tear resign her short'ning Breath,<br>And dauntless meet the ling'ring Stroke of Death.<br>Then at th' Almighty's Sentence shall I mourn:<br>&quot;Of Dust thou art, to Dust shalt thou return.&quot;<br>Or shall I wish to stretch the Line of Fate,<br>That the dull Years may bear a longer Date,<br>To share the Follies of succeeding Times<br>With more Vexations and with deeper Crimes:<br>Ah no -- tho' Heav'n brings near the final Day,<br>For such a Life I will not, dare not pray;<br>But let the Tear for future Mercy flow,<br>And fall resign'd beneath the mighty Blow.<br>Nor I alone -- for through the spacious Ball,<br>With me will Numbers of all Ages fall:<br>And the same Day that Mira yields her Breath,<br>Thousands may enter through the Gates of Death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Leapor">Mary Leapor</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=455895" data-title="An Epistle to a Lady de Mary Leapor" data-description="In vain, dear Madam, yes in vain you strive;
Alas! to make your luckless Mira thrive,
For Tycho and Copernicus agree,
No golden Planet bent its Rays on me.

'Tis twenty Winters, if it is no more;
To speak the Truth it may be Twenty four.
As many S..."></div>
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