COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 61 �TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF HARTFORD, �with her volume of Poems �Of sleepless nights, and days with cares o'ercast, Accept the fruits, tho' far beneath your taste ; Yet look with favour on Ardelia's muse, And what your father cherish'd, still excuse. Whenever style or fancy in them shines, Conclude his praise gave spirit to those lines: So deep his judgment, so acute his wit, No critic liv'd, but did to him submit. From his your gentle nature does proceed ; Then partial be, like him, while here you read ; Who could forgive the errors of a friend, But knew no bounds, when prompted to commend. �UPON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM TWISDEN �Cou'd Rivers weep (as som times Poets dream) �Cou'd neigh'bring Hills our sorrows know, �And thoughtlesse Flocks, and faiding Flowers, �Droop o're the pastures, and beneath the showers, �To sympathize with Man, and answer to his Woe; �Now, shou'd the Medway's fruitfull stream, �In broaken drops, disolve away, �And pay in tears, her Tribute to the sea; �Now shou'd the Flocks, forgett to thrive, �Nor wou'd th' ensuing blasted Spring 10 �One purple Violet revive, �One fragrant Odour bring; �Now, by those Eccho's, which return'd his Name �When by the loud prevailing voice �Calld to the Senate, by his Country's choice, �Twisden amongst their Rocks, and deep recesses came ; ��� �
