To A Young Lady Poem by Samuel Bowden

On her Liking the Preceding Verses, in Praise of Miss P--tt.

Since free from a detracting spirit,
You bear to hear a rival's merit;
The praise which is to Celia due,
Fair Nymph! but echoes back to you.


With candour, and good-nature blest,
No envy swells your peaceful breast.
Envy and Pride too oft' are found
Like wasps to visit flow'ry ground;
And murm'ring most in fragrant air,
Buz thro' the circles of the fair.
Pity such guests shou'd e'er annoy
Bosoms of beauty, and of joy.
As Vipers often hide unseen,
Beneath some bank of mossy green;
But candid minds, and generous Hearts,
Despise such low censorious arts.
Tho' sparkling beauties Celia bless,
Delia's and your's are not the less.
What if the Muse applauds like you,
Fair Phillis, and Orinda too;
Say, gentle Nymph, would you repine,
If I should sing, and they should shine?


Envy, like some contagious blight,
Blasts the fair blossoms of the light;
That canker beauty's force disarms,
And robs the fair of half their charms:
Like trees which cast such noxious shades,
That every plant about them fades.


True merit still our praise extorts,
Whether in cottages, or courts;
Whether it gilds the rich brocade,
Or humbly lurks in freeze, or plaid:
While the vain pomp, which crouds adore,
Is only folly, varnish'd o'er.


Oh! happy Nymph!-in whom we find
The charms of body, and of mind:
And happy Swain! whose lot shall share
A Nymph so generous, and so fair.