An EPISTLE to a LADY. Mary Leapor 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. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 38-41. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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An EPISTLE to a LADY . 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 Springs their 'pointed Space have run , Since Mira's Eyes first open'd on the Sun . 'Twas when the Flocks on slabby Hillocks lye , And the cold Fishes rule the watry Sky : But tho' these Eyes the learned Page explore , And turn the pond'rous Volumes o'er and o'er , I find no Comfort from their Systems flow , But am dejected more as more I know . Hope shines a while , but like a Vapour flies , ( The Fate of all the Curious and the Wise ) For , Ah ! cold Saturn triumph'd on that Day , And frowning Sol deny'd his golden Ray . You see I'm learned , and I shew't the more , That none may wonder when they find me poor . Yet Mira dreams , as slumbring Poets may , And rolls in Treasures till the breaking Day : While Books and Pictures in bright Order rise , And painted Parlours swim before her Eyes : Till the shrill Clock impertinently rings , And the soft Visions move their shining Wings : Then Mira wakes , — her Pictures are no more , And through her Fingers slides the vanish'd Ore . Convinc'd too soon , her Eye unwilling falls On the blue Curtains and the dusty Walls : She wakes , alas ! to Business and to Woes , To sweep her Kitchen , and to mend her Clothes . But see pale Sickness with her languid Eyes , At whose Appearance all Delusion flies : The World recedes , its Vanities decline , Clorinda's Features seem as faint as mine : Gay Robes no more the aking Sight admires , Wit grates the Ear , and melting Musick tires : Its wonted Pleasures with each Sense decay , Books please no more , and Paintings fade away : The sliding Joys in misty Vapours end : Yet let me still , Ah ! let me grasp a Friend : And when each Joy , when each lov'd Object flies , Be you the last that leaves my closing Eyes . But how will this dismantl'd Soul appear , When strip'd of all it lately held so dear , Forc'd from its Prison of expiring Clay , Afraid and shiv'ring at the doubtful Way . Yet did these Eyes a dying Parent see , Loos'd from all Cares except a Thought for me , Without a Tear resign her short'ning Breath , And dauntless meet the ling'ring Stroke of Death . Then at th' Almighty's Sentence shall I mourn : " Of Dust thou art , to Dust shalt thou return . " Or shall I wish to stretch the Line of Fate , That the dull Years may bear a longer Date , To share the Follies of succeeding Times With more Vexations and with deeper Crimes : Ah no — tho' Heav'n brings near the final Day , For such a Life I will not , dare not pray ; But let the Tear for future Mercy flow , And fall resign'd beneath the mighty Blow . Nor I alone — for through the spacious Ball , With me will Numbers of all Ages fall : And the same Day that Mira yields her Breath , Thousands may enter through the Gates of Death .