To the Right Honourable the Lady Kilmorey
Start not, nor tremble at the Sight of this;
It comes not written from the Realms of Bliss:
’Tis true, you see, your once—lov’d Roydon’s Hand;
Thence may conclude from Heav’n some high Command;
Conscious perhaps of your celestial Frame,
You think you’re call’d to Worlds from whence you came.
Not so—but ere her Soul began its Flight,
She thought of you, and staid a—while to write;
Kindly for me her dying Suit address’d:
Then view it, Madam, as her last Request.
