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. [20],117,[3],15,[1]p.; 8⁰. (ESTC T125148)

To Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

To Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

Oh! say what happy Muse informs thy Lyre,
 Or do the sacred Nine, thy Breast inspire;
 That thus we see in each judicious Line,
 Nature and Art in beauteous Order shine,
 The Numbers easy and the Thoughts Divine. 
No more let haughty Man with fierce disdain,
 Despise the Product of a Female brain,
 But read thy Works, there view thy spacious Mind,
 Thy Reason clear, thy Fancy unconfin'd;
 And then be just to thy immortal Fame,
 And with due Honours celebrate thy Name. 
In thy harmonious Strains at once admire,
 Orinda's Judgment, and Astrea's Fire. 
Many are in Poetick Annals found,
 Whose Brows with never fading Laurels bound,
 For some one Grace were by Apollo Crown'd:
[Page] Of generous Friendship, this compos'd her Song,
 And that with Love still Charm'd the list'ning Throng. 
Another in Philosophy excells,
 And pleasing Wonders tunefully Reveals;
 But thou alone on every Theme can'st write,
 That task was left for thy superior Wit. 

J. H.

To Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

To Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

Hail to Clarinda, dear Euterpe Hail,
 Now we shall Conquer, now indeed prevail;
 Clarinda will her charming Lines expose,
 And in her Strength we vanquish all our Foes. 
To these Triumphant Lays, let each repair,
 A sacred Sanction to the writing Fair;
 Mankind has long upheld the Learned Sway,
 And Tyrant Custom forc'd us to obey. 
Thought Art and Science did to them belong,
 And to assert our selves was deem'd a Wrong,
 But we are justify'd by thy immortal Song:
 Come ye bright Nymphs a lasting Garland bring,
 In never fading Verse, Clarinda's Praises sing;
 Read o're her Works, see how Genuine Nature fires,
 Observe the sweetness which her Pen inspires. 
[Page]From thence grow Wise, from thence your Thoughts improve
 Here's Judgment piercing Sense and softer Love;
 To idle Gayeties true Wit prefer,
 Strive all ye thinking Fair, to Copy her. 

M. P.

To Mrs. S. F. on her incomparable Poems.

To Mrs. S. F. on her incomparable Poems.

Thou Champion for our Sex go on and show
 Ambitious Man what Womankind can do
 In vain they boast of large Scholastick Rules,
 Their skill in Arts and Labour in the Schools. 
What various Tongues and Languages acquir'd,
 How fam'd for Policy, for Wit admir'd;
 Their solid Judgment in Philosophy,
 The Metaphysicks, Truths, and Poetry,
 Since here they'll find themselves outdon by thee. 
Thy matchless Thoughts, and flowing Numbers sweet,
 And lofty Flights, in just Conjunction meet;
 Thy mighty Genius can each Subject trace,
 The best can equal and to none give Place. 
Sappho the Great, whom by report we know,
 Would yield her Laurels were she living now,
 And strait turn Chast, to gain a Friend of you:
[Page] Of you! to whom we all Obedience pay,
 And at your Feet our humble Tribute lay,
 Whilst all around, your Beams dart like the God of Day;
 We bask with Pleasure in your Glorious shine,
 And read and wonder at your Verse Divine. 

S. C.

To my Ingenious Friend Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

To my Ingenious Friend Mrs. S. F. on her Poems.

Come ev'ry Muse with Fire and Garlands too,
 Inspire my Breast adorn Clarinda's Brow;
 (Cypress and Mirtle with the Laurel twine,
 Three Boughs of each, with Heavenly skill combine,
 The mystick Number suits the sacred Nine,)
 She does the force of every Passion tell,
 None ever Lov'd, or Greiv'd, or Prais'd so well. 
Sometimes she soars aloft a Pindar's height,
 In a bright Track nigh lost to human Sight;
 Then gently slides into a softer Strain,
 And does with Loves and Graces entertain:
 In Panegyricks just to that Degree,
 'Tis all complaisant Truth, not nauseous Flattery;
 And when her Muse Satyrick would appear,
 'Tis without air of Spite, and yet severe. 
[Page]Then in deep Thought reflects on human kind,
 And traces Fate thro' her mysterious Wind:
 To ev'ry Theme she does her Genius bend,
 While every Art and Grace officiously attend. 
Such sacred Beauties grace her lays Divine,
 Pæan's immortal Beams shine Bright in every Line;
 In Virgil, Ovid, Martial we prefer,
 Some single Gift, but we have all in her. 
Forbear by humble Muse, thou art unfit,
 To celebrate her various turns of Wit. 
Let the soft Pen, who great Pastora Mourn'd,
 To more delightful rural Strains be turn'd;
 And sing Clarinda's Fame, whose tender Lays,
 Next to his own, deserve immortal Praise. 

E. C.

The fond Shepherdess. A PASTORAL.
On Friendship.
The Extacy.
On the Honourable Robert Boyl's, Notion of Nature.
Satyr against the Muses.
To the Queen.
The Liberty.
To the Lady Cambell, with a Female Advocate.
On my leaving London, June the 29.
The Repulse to Alcander.
To Mr. Norris, on his Idea of Happiness.
The Retreat.
To one who in Love, set a Figure.
To Philaster.
At my leaving Cambridge August the 14th, Extempore.
To Orabella, Marry'd to an old Man.
To Alexis, on his absence.
A SONG.
Love.
A SONG.
To One who said I must not Love.
On the death of dear Statyra.
On being —— tax'd with Symony.
An occasional Copy, in Answer to Mr. Joshua Barns, Extempore.
Song on Madam S—.
The Fate.
A SONG.
On a Gentleman and his Wife visiting a Lady. He sleeping the while. Extempore. Spoke by Morpheus.
The Vision.
The Power of Love.
To Marcella.
The Invocation.
On the Author of Religion by Reason, or the Light of Nature a Guide to Divine Truth.
On Atheism.
On a Sermon Preach'd Sept. the 6th, 1697. on these Words, You have sold your selves for Nought.
A SONG.
On my leaving S—y.
The Gratitude.
On my wedding Day.
The Fatality.
An Ode on the Death of Mr. Dryden.
The Advice.
To Thyrsis on his Pastoral to Mr. Creech.
Delia to Phraartes on his Playing Cæsar Borgia.
To Clarona drawing Alexis's Picture and presenting it to me.
A SONG.
Erato the Amorous Muse on the Death of John Dryden, Esq.
Delia to Phraartes on his mistake of three Ladies writing to him.
To Marina.
Euterpe: The Lyrick Muse, On the Death of John Dryden, Esq; An ODE.
Terpsichore: A Lyrick Muse, On the Death of John Dryden, Esq; extempore.
The Platonick.
The Emulation.
To Mr. Yalden, on his Temple of Fame, Extempore.
On the Death of William III, King of England.
To N. Tate, Esq; on his Poem on the Queen's Picture, Drawn by Closterman.
To my much valu'd Friend Moneses.
FINIS.

FINIS.