"My Delia's Words still bear the Stamp of Wit, / Impress'd too plainly to be counterfeit: / Which, with the Weight of massy Reason join'd, / Declare the Strength and Quickness of her Mind; / Her Thoughts are noble, and her Sense refin'd."
— Davys, Mary (1674-1732)
Thro' the dark Turnings of a dubious Maze:
But few, my Friend, in spite of all their Care,
Retreat betimes from Love's inviting Snare:
The eldest Sons of Wisdom were not free
From the same Failings you condemn in me;
They lov'd, and by that glorious Passion led,
Forgot what Plato and themselves had said:
My Faults, you too severely reprehend,
More like a rigid Censor than a Friend.
You own'd my Delia once divinely fair,
When in the Bud her native Beauties were:
Your Praises did her early Charms confess,
Yet you'd persuade me now to love her less;
Since to her Height of Bloom the Fair is grown,
And every Charm in its full Vigour shown:
Her whole Composure's of so fine a Frame,
Pride cannot hope to mend, nor Envy blame.
My Delia's Words still bear the Stamp of Wit,
Impress'd too plainly to be counterfeit:
Which, with the Weight of massy Reason join'd,
Declare the Strength and Quickness of her Mind;
Her Thoughts are noble, and her Sense refin'd.
Why then, Dear Thirsis, wou'd you strive to move
A Heart like mine from its Commander, Love?
The very last Word of this Poem, will, I dare say, give you a Disrelish for all the rest: I will not byass your Opinion by giving mine, but leave it wholly to a Judgment which cannot err: Let me know in your next how you like it. And pray let me have a little London News: I mean, such as the Tea-Table affords; for the rest, I refer myself to the publick Prints, and expect nothing from Berina, but what she can answer to Justice and Good-nature; and what I may, without a Breach in either, read.