To my much valu'd Friend Moneses. Sarah Fyge Egerton 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. T125148 Egerton, Sarah Fyge, 1668-1723. Poems on Several Occasions, Together with a Pastoral. By Mrs. S. F. [poems only] London printed, and are to be sold by J. Nutt, near Stationers-Hall 1703 pp. 116-117. [20],117,[3],15,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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To my much valu'd Friend Moneses . Great Pæan now thy strongest Rays dispense , Give Virgils Flights and Dryden's Eloquence : All the fam'd Bards of sacred Poetry , Let their bright Flames revive again in me . Inspire my Breast whilst I his Praise rehearse , Whose worth deserves thy own immortal Verse ; I sing Moneses whom the Gods ordain'd , To show their Form , e'er 'twas by Sin prophan'd : He is all Goodness , Mercy , Justice , Truth , Has all the Charms without the vice of Youth . These are the Native Beauties of his Soul , While every Art and Grace adorns the whole : Obliging is his Mein , his Judgment strong , A flowing Wit directs his pleasing Tongue ; And each inchanting Accent which we hear , Like airs Divine Transport the list'ning Ear . Not Orpheus Harp , not yet Amphion's Lyre , Could with more Sweetness or more force inspire : Oh ! what Infernal Magick Mortals bind , That his instructive Voice can't move the Mind , And calm the raging Follies of Mankind . ( The passive Stones obey'd less powerful Sound , For in their heaps was no resisting Atoms found ; ) Not greater Pride or Joys did Ammon move , When by the Shrine , pronounc'd the Son of Jove : Then are the Transports my blest Soul attend , That I can call the brave Moneses Friend . Moneses whom Apollo has design'd , With his own Arts , to Heal and Charm Mankind ; Fain would I still persue my wonderous Song , But oh ! too fast the bright Ideas throng , Stifl'd in Raptures e'er they reach my Tongue : So when with greatest Zeal we Heaven accost , Our Notions all in Extacies are lost , We utter least , where it deserves the most .