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.