Mary Barber

(1690-1757 / England)

Written For My Son, To Mr. Barry; - Poem by Mary Barber

Since Phoebus makes your Verse divine,
Since the God glows in ev'ry Line;
Why should you think, but I, with Ease,
Might write my native, artless Lays?

My Mother told me many a Time,
That Double--dealing was a Crime:
Alas! and is it only so,
In us, whose Birth and Fortune's low?
For you, tho' nobly born, descend
To injure, yet appear a Friend;
And seem to make my Praise your Aim,
With more Success to wound my Fame.

So your Apollo's Priests, of old,
(As by his Poets we are told)
With glorious Wreaths the Victim drest;
Then plung'd the Poniard in his Breast.


Comments about Written For My Son, To Mr. Barry; by Mary Barber

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 20, 2010



[Report Error]