TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
Lady Mary Coke
The gentle maid, whose hapless tale These melancholy pages speak Say, gracious lady, shall she fail To draw the tear adown thy cheek?
No; never was thy pitying breast Insensible to human woes; Tender, though firm, it melts distrest For weaknesses it never knows.
Oh! guard the marvels I relate Of fell ambition scourg’d by fate, From reason’s peevish blame. Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail I dare expand to fancy’s gale, For sure thy smiles are fame.
—H. W.