Address to Mrs. B—

CHARLOTTE, to thee, whose gentle breast
Of innate goodness is possest,
To thee a friendly Muse appeals
For truth of what her Tale reveals.

From Gallia's once delightful shore
Thy Sire the sacred symbol bore,
And oft exulted to expand,
The test of an Almighty hand,
The wondrous test of bounty giv'n
To humble worth by fav'ring Heav'n.
Thy Sire! the well-remember'd name
Lays on the Muse a sacred claim
To speak his fascinating pow'r,
Who wak'd to glee the scenic hour;
The private walk of life endear'd,
And many an aching bosom cheer'd;
Who liv'd applauded and approv'd,
And died regretted and belov'd.
This thy dear parent's well-earn'd praise
Deserves the mead of richer lays.

Here might the Muse with volant quill
From COWLEY pass to sweet Rose-Hill,
With Mem'ry take a random flight,
Whirl'd in delirium of delight;
Dwell on the name of JOHNNY BEARD,
The friend, who ev'ry spot endear'd;
Recording the familiar chat,
Oft "here he stray'd," and "there he sate;"
Or, all beneath yon aged oak,
He twirl'd the pun, or coin'd the joke;
Or lengthen'd out the ev'ning walk
On subjects grave, in moral talk;
Or cheerly wak'd the rosy morn
With chaunting clear his early horn.

Of more exalted worth the Muse would speak,
But needless were the task, and words too weak,
For his innate benevolence of soul,
Fond to dispense the charitable dole,
That energy, wherewith he sought the haunt
Of crippled age, of malady, or want,
And all the virtues which the Muse could find
Lodg'd in the casket of his consort's mind,
(Which scarce a MASON's pen could amply grace)
Will be recorded in a better place.