No more at Criticks, Ned, repine,
Who say those Numbers are not thine.
I own I was suspicious too,
And thought the Verse too good for You:
But since you say those Lines you writ,
The Proof is full, and I submit.
So, if Thaumantia should profess,
She owes Herself her glorious Dress;
And Cynthia, Empress of the Night,
Declare she shines by native Light;
(Tho' envious Criticks vent their Gall,)
I'd equally believe you all.
To A Gentleman, Who Shew'd A Fine Poem As His Own.
Mary Barber
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Poem topics: believe, light, night, good, submit, verse, thought, dress, native, thine, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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