Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/245

COUNTESS OP WINCHILSEA ���107 ���A Grand-Sires latest plaints to hear �Sick only of his nintieth year �To combat with each foul disease �That can unwholsome Nature seize �The brisker aid of sprightly wine �For Sal-volatile resign �With Druggs and their mistaken force. 'Twas ill to clogg that gay discourse 30 �Which here-to-fore when unconfin'd �Remov'd all sicknesse from the Mind �Whilst Table-books were richly fraught �With Witt which cost thee scarce a thought �So swift itt from occasions rose �Extempore" in Verse or Prose �Why shou'd that Herb which cur'd our spleen �When from thy Pen so fresh so green �So soft so fragrant and so yong �It in th' inliven'd Fancy sprung 40 �Grow useless by o're labour' d skill �And draining through a winding still �Why shou'd thy time and sence be lost �In saving those not worth the cost �Believe me too 'tis all in vain �Believe one of the Riming Traine ' Tis vain to strive in Fate's dispite �Numbers with mony to unite �That sordid Plant we ne're cou'd raise �Within the odour of the Bays 50 �Forsake then thy ill chosen toile �Return to that abandon'd soyle �Return Mirtillo to Apollo's Rules �Return to ease and to the Muses scools �Live there a Wit leave druggery to fools ��� �