To the NIGHTINGALE. Anne Finch (née Kingsmill), countess of Winchilsea Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T94539 pp. 274-5 K076314.000 Winchilsea, Anne Kingsmill Finch, Countess of, 1661-1720. Miscellany poems, on several occasions: Written by the Right Honble Anne, Countess of Winchilsea. London printed for J. B. and sold by Benj. Tooke, William Taylor, and James Round 1713 pp. 200-202. [8],390p. ; 8⁰.

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To the NIGHTINGALE . EXert thy Voice , sweet Harbinger of Spring ! This Moment is thy Time to Sing , This Moment I attend to Praise , And set my Numbers to thy Layes . Free as thine shall be my Song ; As thy Musick , short , or long . Poets , wild as thee , were born , Pleasing best when unconfin'd , When to Please is least design'd , Soothing but their Cares to rest ; Cares do still their Thoughts molest , And still th' unhappy Poet's Breast , Like thine , when best he sings , is plac'd against a Thorn . She begins , Let all be still ! Muse , thy Promise now fulfill ! Sweet , oh ! sweet , still sweeter yet Can thy Words such Accents fit , Canst thou Syllables refine , Melt a Sense that shall retain Still some Spirit of the Brain , Till with Sounds like these it join . 'Twill not be ! then change thy Note ; Let Division shake thy Throat . Hark ! Division now she tries ; Yet as far the Muse outflies . Cease then , prithee , cease thy Tune ; Trifler , wilt thou sing till June ? Till thy Bus'ness all lies waste , And the Time of Building's past ! Thus we Poets that have Speech , Unlike what thy Forests teach , If a fluent Vein be shown That's transcendent to our own , Criticize , reform , or preach , Or censure what we cannot reach .