ANSWER to a LETTER From the Hon. Miss LOVELACE. Mary Jones 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. T115196 Jones, Mary, d. 1778. Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. By Mary Jones. Oxford Printed; and delivered by Mr. Dodsley in Pall-Mall, Mr. Clements in Oxford, and Mr. Frederick in Bath, MDCCL. 1750 pp. 104-106. vi,[1],xlv,[1],405p.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
ANSWER to a LETTER From the Hon. Miss LOVELACE . As half resign'd , in Clayton's green retreats , Once more I trod the Muse's sacred seats , Pleas'd where the rose its purple bloom display'd , And calm'd where poplars spread their awful shade ; Just as my heart had beat itself to rest , Your lines arriv'd : the lyre I snatch'd in haste , And emulation fir'd my panting breast . Henceforth , I cry'd , let Glory be my aim , For Hertford smiles , whose very smiles are Fame . The pow'r of song invok'd , my voice I raise , And all my soul was tun'd to Hertford's praise : Whether in verse melodiously she flows , Or the bold image paints in nervous prose ; Whether once more the sister arts she joins , And give to Reuben's colours , Titian's lines ; Or , sweetly-studious , bends the thoughtful brow , Or smiles indulgent o'er her yet lov'd Rowe ; Or , in the private scene , retir'd from view , ( That scene so oft with pleasure mark'd by You ) Still as she came , my voice grew faint with fear , So graceful She , so amiably severe . What could I more ? — Adieu ye tuneful throng ! Farewel the sounding lyre , and raptur'd song ! Presumptuous notes ! whene'er my voice I raise , If nought the Muse will dicate but her praise ; Vain is the song , too delicate her ear , And these the very sounds she will not hear .