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Mary Barber

Verses Sent to a Lady, Who Took Delight in Ridiculing a Person

Should you employ your Ridicule,
On those who Pity claim?
Think, Birtha, is the native Fool
For Wit a proper Theme?
 
On Vice your hum’rous Vein display;
’Tis meritorious there;
Or tow’ring Vanity allay;
But, O! Misfortune spare.
 
With Wisdom who endows the Brain,
To thy Remembrance call;
Nor, while the Wretched you sustain,
Tincture their Cup with Gall.

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Other works by Mary Barber...
Written for my Son... at His First Putting on Breeches

WHAT is it our mamma’s bewitches… To plague us little boys with bree… To tyrant Custom we must yield, Whilst vanquish’d Reason flies th… Our legs must suffer by ligation,
The Prodigy.

Tho’ Rhyme serves the Thoughts of… It sets off the Sense of small Po… When I’ve written in Prose, I of… That my Sense, in a Jumble of Wo… In Verse, as in Armies, that marc…
To the Right Honourable the Earl of Thomond, at Bath

Obrian, were in Story told, Thy Ancestors wore Crowns of old: In fair Hibernia’s Isle they reig… A Country, by their Sons disdain’… Too apt to charge their Native Is…
Written for my Son, and Spoken by Him, at a Public Examination for Victors.

To you, Athenians, we again submi… Reward, or punish us, as you think… Let Idleness, unpity’d, meet Disg… For Idleness, this Year, is doubl… This is the Æra, this the destin’d…
To Mrs. Armine Cartwright, at Bath.

Lovely Armina, o’er her Books rec… Impairs her Body, to improve her… Of Wisdom fond, as others are of… In that Pursuit will sacrifice he… Then, Miser—like, when she has ga…
To His Grace the Duke of Buckingham and Normanby, at the Camp Before Philipsburgh.

Return, brave Youth! suspend thy… Nor, like great Berwick, in the F… Illustrious Exile! thou art gone… Thy Toils, and various Dangers no… The royal Blood, which flow’d in…
Written at Camberwell, Near London, in the Study of Mr. Wainwright

Whilst happily I pass my Hours In Camberwell’s delightful Bow’rs… From thence the beauteous Walks s… Or thro’ the fragrant Mazes stray… Or o’er the Study cast my Eye,
Written for my Son, to Some of the Fellows of the College,

We of late had a terrible Rout in… If I happen’d to speak, I was sur… My Mamma had the Tooth—ach, and… O Steel, I for ever will yalue th… Both Children, and Servants, to t…
Written in the Conclusion of a Letter to Mr. Tickel,

Eternal King, is there one Hour, To make me greatly bless’d? When shall I have it in my Pow’r To succour the Distress’d? In vain, alas! my Heart o’erflows
Apollo’s Edict.

Ierne’s now our royal Care: We lately fix’d our Vice—roy ther… How near was she to be undone, Till pious Love inspir’d her Son! What cannot our Vice—gerent do,
Written for my Son, to Mr. Barry;

Since Phoebus makes your Verse di… Since the God glows in ev’ry Line… Why should you think, but I, with… Might write my native, artless La… My Mother told me many a Time,
Written at Bath to a Young Lady

You us’d me ill, and I withdrew, Intent on satirizing you. The Muses to my Aid I call; They came; and told me, one and al… That I mistook their Province qui…
Verses Occasion’D by the Sickness of Mrs. Anne Donnellan.

Goddess of Health, where—e’er you… To Philomela fly; O hasten from your rural Cell, Nor let the Fair one die. Again her Voice divine restore,
To Novella

An Epigram You cry, She’s bred in the Old W… Then into Laughter fall: Were she as just to you, she’d say… You are not bred at all.
To Dr. Mead, on His Cape Wine.

Your Wine, by Southern Suns refi… Is a just Emblem of your Mind: Like You, the gen’rous Juice disp… Its Influence a thousand Ways; Like You, it raises sinking Heart…



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