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Mary Barber

Written for my Son, to Some of the Fellows of the College,

We of late had a terrible Rout in our House;
If I happen’d to speak, I was sure of a Souse.
My Mamma had the Tooth—ach, and I felt the Smart—
O Steel, I for ever will yalue thy Art:
Both Children, and Servants, to thee are beholden;
Let them do what they would, they were sure of a Scolding.
Athenians, I humbly beseech you, explain,
Why the Tongue cannot rest, when the Teeth are in Pain.

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Otras obras de Mary Barber...
An Apology for my Son to His Master, for Not Bringing an Exercise on the Coronation Day.

Why are we Scholars plagu’d to wr… On Days devoted to Delight? In Honour of the King, I’d play Upon his Coronation Day: But as for Loyalty in Rhyme,
A Letter Written From London to Mrs. Strangeways Hornet

Say, my Hortensia, in this silent… When the pale Queen of Night exer… What Guardian—Angels on thy Slum… To paint the Glories of thy futur… To shew what Mansions, in the Rea…
A Letter to a Friend,

As in some wealthy, trading Town, Where Riches raise to fure Renown… The Man, with ample Sums in Stor… More than enough, yet wanting more… Bent on Abundance, first secures
To Mrs. Frances—Arabella Kelly.

To Day, as at my Glass I stood, To set my Head—cloaths, and my Ho… I saw my grizzled Locks with Drea… And call’d to mind the Gorgon’s H… Thought I, whate’er the Poets say…
Occasion’D by Seeing Some Verses Written by Mrs. Constantia Grierson, Upon the Death of Her Son.

This mourning Mother can with Eas… The Arts of Latium, and the Grec… Was early learn’d, nay more, was e… And knew the Pride of Science to… Left Men to take assuming Airs fr…
An Apology Written for my Son to His Master

I beg your Scholar you’ll excuse, Who dares no more debase the Muse… My Mother says, If e’er she hears… I write again on worthless Peers, Whether they’re living Lords, or…
To the Honourable Mrs. Spencer, on Her Removing From Windsor to Rookly in Hampshire.

Where—e’er you go, some Actions s… Which make the Goodness of your M… Hibernia early saw those Seeds of… In your fair Breast, which now sh… Foresaw the Hopes you gave, matur…
A Letter Written for my Daughter to a Lady, Who Had Presented Her With a Cap.

Your late kind Gift let me restor… For I must never wear it more. My Mother cries, 'What’s here to… ‘A Crimson Velvet Cap for you! ’If to these Heights so soon you…
Written From Dublin, to a Lady in the Country.

A wretch, in smoaky Dublin pent, Who rarely sees the Firmament, You graciously invite, to view The Sun’s enliv’ning Rays with yo… To change the Town for flow’ry Me…
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…
To Sophronia.

Sophronia, all the World agree, The Soul of Friendship dwells in… Let Envy other Gifts dispute, Since here the Fury must be mute. Without one vain, one venal View,
An Epitaph on the Late Lord Mount—Cashel.

Children are snatch’d away sometim… To punish Parents for their Crime… Thy Mother’s Merit was so great, Heav’n hasten’d thy untimely Fate… To make her Character complete.
On the Dutchess of Newcastle’s Picture.

Say, Worsdcal, where you learn’d… To paint the Goodness of the Hear… The flatt’ring Teint let others p… You call the Soul into the Eyes: There we the various Virtues trac…
Sent as From a School—Fellow to my Son

I grieve to see you waste your Ti… And turn your Thoughts so much to… Be wise—your useless Views resign… And fly the fair, delusive Nine. I know, they try their wonted Art…
An Apology Written for my Son to the Reverend Mr. Sampson,

With Joy your Summons we obey, And come to celebrate this Day. Yet I, alas! despair to please; For you require exalted Lays: And, let me write whate’er I will…



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