MARY PIX Was the daughter of a clergyman named Griffith. "By the date of her writings, she flourished in King William III.'s reign; but in what year she was born, to whom married, or when she died, are particulars which seem buried in obscurity and oblivion.”— Biog. Dram. She wrote eleven plays. SONG (In the third Act of Ibrahim, the thirteenth Emperor of the Turks. Printed 1696). IMPERIAL sultan, hail, To whom great kingdoms bow, O'er all below! Commanding woman here. An humble vassal shall appear; No thunder in her voice we prize, Or lightning in her eyes, When our terrestrial God draws near. Under our prophet's influence live, While wondering nations view The deeds your conquering armies do, And Christians to be made your subjects strive! ANONYMOUS AUTHORESS. The Golden Island, or the Darian Song, in commendation of all concerned in that noble enterprise of the valiant Scots. By a Lady of Honour,—was printed at Edinburgh in 1699. It consists of an hundred and fiftytwo lines, of which the following small portion will, no doubt, amply satisfy the reader. REFRESHING spring and rivulets, Came gliding with her jumbling notes, The charming birds, that haunts the woods, Brought presents in their mouths, and sang We pay tribute to you. We went in boats, and come to land, Which banish'd all our fears: The seas did mourn for want of us, Each oar was dropping tears. Did fill their claws with golden dust, The turtles in the Indian seas And came to see that noble fleet, The hurtchon came out of the woods, She mumbled, but she could not speak, The balmy grass, and blooming flowers, Were all cover'd with dew; Then Phoebus bid them give a smell, And that would pay their due. LADY CHUDLEIGH, Born 1656, died 1710, Was the daughter of Richard Lee, Esq. of Winsloder, in Devonshire, and wife of Sir George Chudleigh, Bart. of Ashton, in the same county. Her poems were collected into a volume in 1703, and printed a third time in 1722. A volume of her Essays was published in 1710. To the Ladies. WIFE and servant are the same, Fierce as an eastern prince he grows, And all his innate rigour shows: Then but to look, to laugh, or speak, Like mutes, she signs alone must make, And never any freedom take; The Resolve. FOR what the world admires I'll wish no more, Let them be suppliants for an empty fame. Exempting it from passion and from stain; If no black guilty thoughts disturb my sleeps, And no past crimes my vext remembrance pain; K |