Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu Poems

1. The Fourth Ode Of The First Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
2. Impromptu, To A Young Lady Singing 1/3/2003
3. The Bride In The Country 1/3/2003
4. Melinda's Complaint 1/3/2003
5. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana Or The Drawing-Room 1/1/2004
6. On The Death Of Mrs. Bowes 1/3/2003
7. The Fifth Ode Of The First Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
8. Song -- Rondeau 1/3/2003
9. Town Eclogues: Tuesday; St. James's Coffee-House 1/1/2004
10. Town Eclogues: Wednesday 1/1/2004
11. Thursday, The Bassette-Table 1/3/2003
12. On Seeing A Portrait Of Sir Robert Walpole 1/3/2003
13. The Politicians 1/3/2003
14. Monday, Roxana, Or The Drawing-Room 1/3/2003
15. Written At Lovere, 1755 1/3/2003
16. Julia To Ovid 1/3/2003
17. Irregular Verses To Truth 1/3/2003
18. To The Same 1/3/2003
19. The Ninth Ode Of The Third Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
20. To Mr. ------ 1/3/2003
21. Fragment To ****** 1/3/2003
22. Town Eclogues: Thursday; The Bassette-Table 1/1/2004
23. John Duke Of Marlborough 1/3/2003
24. Lady Hertford To Lord William Hamilton 1/3/2003
25. Friday, The Toilette 1/3/2003
26. The Court Of Dulness 1/3/2003
27. Epithalamium 1/3/2003
28. To A Friend On His Travels 1/3/2003
29. Farewell To Bath 1/3/2003
30. Wednesday, The Tête À Tête 1/3/2003
31. Town Eclogues: Saturday; The Small-Pox 1/1/2004
32. Addressed To ------, 1736 1/3/2003
33. Continuation 1/3/2003
34. A Character 1/3/2003
35. Epistle From Arthur Grey, The Footman, To Mrs. Murray, After His Condemnation For Attempting To Comm 1/1/2004
36. Answer 1/3/2003
37. Answered, For Lord William Hamilton 1/3/2003
38. The Lady's Resolve 1/3/2003
39. Epistle To Lord Hervey On The King's Birthday From The Country 1/3/2003
40. Epilogue To The Tragedy Of Cato 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

An Answer To A Love-Letter, In Verse

Is it to me this sad lamenting strain?
Are Heaven's choicest gifts bestow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, and content your pride;
Yet, leaving her, 'tis me that you pursue,
Without one single charm -- but being new.
How vile is man! How I detest the ways
Of covert falsehood and designing praise!
As tasteless, easier happiness you slight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears ...

Read the full of An Answer To A Love-Letter, In Verse

A Hymn To The Moon

Written in July, in an arbour

Thou silver deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover's guardian, and the Muse's aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;

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