a resigning temper,
to support all the troubles, all the uneasiness of life, and then,
by unexpected emergencies, unforeseen disappointments, sudden, and
surprising turns of fortune, discomposed, and shock'd, 'till I have
rallied my scattered fears, got new strength, and by making unwearied
resistance, gained the better of my afflictions, and restored my mind to
its former tranquility. Would we (continues her ladyship) contract our
desires, and learn to think that only necessary, which nature has made
so; we should be no longer fond of riches, honours, applauses, and
several other things, which are the unhappy occasions of much mischief
to the world; and doubtless, were we so happy as to have a true notion
of the dignity of our nature, of those great things for which we were
designed, and of the duration and felicity of that state to which we are
hastening, we should scorn to stoop to mean actions, and blush at the
thoughts of doing any thing below our character.' In this manner does
our authoress discover her sentiments of piety. We now shall subjoin the
specimen;

DIALOGUE.

MARISSA.

O my Lucinda! O my dearest friend!
Must my afflictions never, never end!
Has Heav'n for me, no pity left in store,
Must I! O must I ne'er be happy more!
Philanda's loss had almost broke my heart,
From her alas! I did but lately part:
And must there still be new occasions found
To try my patience, and my soul to wound?
Must my lov'd daughter too be snatch'd away,
Must she so soon the call of fate obey?
In her first dawn, replete with youthful charms,
She's fled, she's fled, from my deserted arms.
Long did she struggle, long the war maintain,
But all th' efforts of life, alas! were vain.
Could art have saved her, she had still been
mine,
Both art and care together did combine:
But what is proof against the will divine?
Methinks I still her dying conflict view,
And the sad sight does all my grief renew;
Rack'd by convulsive pains, she meekly lies,
And gazes on me with imploring eyes;
With eyes which beg relief, but all in vain,
I see but cannot, cannot ease her pain.
She must the burden unassisted bear,
I cannot with her in her tortures share:
Would they were mine, and me flood easy by;
For what one loves, sure 'twere not hard to die.
See how me labours, how me pants for breath,
She's lovely still, she's sweet, she's sweet in
death!
Pale as she is, me beauteous