Mary Barber Poems
An Unanswerable Apology For The Rich.
All--bounteous Heav'n, Castalio cries,
With bended Knees, and lifted Eyes,
When shall I have the Pow'r to bless,
And raise up Merit in Distress?
How do our Hearts deceive us here!
He gets ten thousand Pounds a Year.
With this the pious Youth is able
To build, and plant, and keep a Table.
But then the Poor he must not treat:
Who asks the Wretch, that wants to eat?
Alas! to ease their Woes he wishes;
But cannot live without Ten Dishes:
Tho' Six would serve as well, 'tis true;
But one must live, as others do.
He now feels Wants unknown ...
An Hymn To Sleep.
Written when the Author was sick.
Somnus, pow'rful Deity,
Mortals owe their Bliss to thee.
How long shall I thy Absence mourn,
And when be bless'd in thy Return?
Relentless God! why will you flee,
And take Delight to torture me:
Or do you kindly flight my Pray'r,
To make me for my Change prepare?