SONNET TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY MARY

COKE.

THE gentle maid, whose hapless tale These melancholy pages speak; Say, gracious lady, shall she fail To draw the tear adown thy cheek?

No; never was thy pitying breast Insensible to human woes; Tender, tho' firm, it melts distrest For weaknesses it never knows.

Oh! guard the marvels I relate Of fell ambition scourg'd by fate, From reason's peevish blame. Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail I dare expand to Fancy's gale, For sure thy smiles are Fame.

H. W.