Mary Barber Poems

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Contented in my humble State,
I look with Pity on the Great;
Who only Birth, or Wealth, respect,
And treat true Merit with neglect.
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32.
The Oak And Its Branches.

An Oak, with spreading Branches crown'd,
Beheld an Ivy on the Ground,
Expos'd to ev'ry trampling Beast,
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33.
To Dr. Mead, On His Cape Wine.

Your Wine, by Southern Suns refin'd,
Is a just Emblem of your Mind:
Like You, the gen'rous Juice displays
Its Influence a thousand Ways;
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34.
The Recantation: To The Same Lady

For give me, fair One, nor resent
The Lines to you I lately sent.
They seem, as if your Form you priz'd,
And ev'ry other Gift despis'd:
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35.
Verses Ty'D About A Fawn's Neck

As thro' this sylvan Scene I stray'd,
I saw and lov'd the Iv'ry Maid:
And hearing that she fled from Man,
I begg'd this Form of mighty Pan;
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To the late King of Britain a Savage was brought,
Which wild in the Woods of Germania was caught.
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37.
The Widow Gordon's Petition

To the Right Hon. the Lady Carteret.

Weary'd with long Attendance on the Court,
You, Madam, are the Wretch's last Resort.
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This mourning Mother can with Ease explore
The Arts of Latium, and the Grecian Store:
Was early learn'd, nay more, was early wise;
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39.
To His Grace The Duke Of Chandos.

Were Princes grac'd with Souls like thine,
Princes had still been deem'd divine.
Such Merit as we find in thee,
First introduc'd Idolatry;
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40.
The Resolution

The Favours of Fortune I once hop'd to gain,
And often invok'd her, but ever in vain.
She despis'd my Addresses, which gave me such Grief,
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