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Mary Barber

Mary Barber

To a Lady

WELL you Sincerity display,
 A virtue wond’rous rare!
Nor value, tho’ the world should say,
 You’re rude, so you’re sincere.
To be sincere, then, give me leave ;
 And I will frankly own,
Since you but this one virtue have,
’Twere better you had none.

#English #Women

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Other works by Mary Barber...
Written for my Son to His Master, on the Anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne.

Is what we owe great William then Forgotten by ungrateful Men? And has His Fame run out its Dat… Who snatch’d us from the Brink of… Else, why should Scholars, Sir,…
To Mrs. Barber

See, the bright Sun renews his an… Each Beam re—tinges, and revives… By Years uninjur’d; so may’st tho… Not Time from thee, but thou from… O might the Fates thy vital Threa…
To the Right Honourable John Earl of Orrery, at Bath, After the Death of the Late Earl.

’Tis said, for ev’ry common Grief The Muses can afford Relief: And, surely, on that heav’nly Tra… A Boyle can never call in vain. Then strait invoke the sacred Nin…
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
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 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…
To His Excellency the Lord Carteret.

The Picture strikes—'tis drawn wi… Well has the Poet play’d the Pain… Tho’ ’tis your Glory, yet, my Lor… I grieve the Features fit yoursel… But know, tho’ All agree the Pict…
To Her Grace the Dutchess of Manchester, and Lady Diana Spencer

Madam, I hear, and hear with Sorr… That we’re to lose Your Grace To… Nor you alone, but Lady Di. Where, thus deserted, shall I fly… Am I condemn’d to live in Pain,
An Apology to Dr. Clayton, Bishop of Killala, and His Lady

My Lord of Killala, I find to my… I can’t have the Honour I hop’d f… But why I’m so wretched, my Frien… For I never can write my Vexation… Disappointments are sent to poor…
To Robert Barber Esq; Deputy to the Treasurer’s Remembrancer in the Court of Exchequer

Whilst Gay’s unhappy Fate thy Ea… Thy Heart, indignant, scorns his… Thy gen’rous Heart, which never l… A Friend or to deceive, or to bet… With Honour and Integrity so bles…
An Apology to the Earl of Orrery

Not Persia’s Monarch could, unmov… Those num’rous Hosts, which Time… He wept Misfortunes of a distant… I mourn the Rigour of my instant… The dreaded Hour approaching fast…
To the Right Honourable the Lady Kilmorey

Start not, nor tremble at the Sig… It comes not written from the Rea… ’Tis true, you see, your once—lov’… Thence may conclude from Heav’n s… Conscious perhaps of your celestia…
To Mrs. Ward. by the Same.

O thou, my beauteous, ever tender… Thou, on whom all my worldly Joys… Accept these Numbers; and with Pl… Unstudy’d Truth, which few, alas!… While conscious Virtue takes the…
To a Lady Who Commanded Me to Send Her an Account in Verse

How I succeed, you kindly ask; Yet set me on a grievous Task, When you oblige me to rehearse, The Censures past upon my Verse. Tho’ I with Pleasure may relate,
On Sending my Son, as a Present, to Dr. Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s, on His Birth—Day.

A Curious Statue, we are told, Is priz’d above its Weight in Gol… If the fair Form the Hand confess Of Phidias, or Praxiteles: But if the Artist could inspire



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