SOPHRONIA. VERSES Written occasionally by Reading A Late Scandalous LIBEL DESIGNED, An Aspersion upon the Lady G—.
AS some vile Atheist that could ne're agree
With Conscience, God, or Christianity,
By Hell inspir'd, prophanes the blessed State;
Owns no First Cause, the Holy Writ do's hate,
Blasphemes the Heavens, and grows a Reprobate;
So Envy strove Sophronia's Fame to blast;
Sophronia, Angel fair, and wise and chast;
Blest Genius of a happy Husband's Life,
The softest, mildest, and the truest Wife;
Whose Vertue like the God of the gay Morn,
Serenely shone, and Love did more adorn.
And though Malicious Clouds do strive to shade
It's Glorious Face, and Influence invade;
Through the black Mists her Lustre soon did pierce,
And guild with dazling Beams the Universe.
Ingrateful, Barb'rous and Detracting Age!
Thou Scene of Impudent, Ill-natur'd Rage!
Epitome of Hell, that art so lewd,
Thou know'st not to distinguish ill from good;
But as a groveling Hog no Blossom heeds,
Thou root'st up Fragrant Flowers with stinking Weeds:
Be damn'd in thy own Faction, and thy Care,
In thy Rebellion curst, but never dare
With impious Breath presume to blast the Fair.
Base, fordid Age! that dost not Merit see;
But usest Beauty just like Loyalty,
Swoln big with Malice like a poysonous Toad,
And on each Flower vents his venom'd Load,
Thou spread'st thy fatal Dew around the Field,
And fragrant Flowers as well as Weeds are kill'd:
So Innocence—
Pursu'd by th' ignorant, mistaken Hate,
Of th' Noisie Crowd, making Defence too late,
And thought a Villain bears a Villain's Fate;
Though in the proof it still as guiltless be,
As Infant-Love, or Virgin-Modesty.
And thou vile Scribler of this viler Time,
That dar'st to act this poor unmanly Crime,
And Libel her whose Worth was so sublime,
Ill-Natur'd Fowler, that thy Snare didst lay,
For th' harmless Dove, as well as chattering Jay,
And knew'st not pretty Larks from Birds of prey;
Maist thou be plung'd in the Infernal pit,
The proper Seat of Envy without Wit.
Thou hadst thy Malice sure from the City's Scum,
Their Secretary of Advice from Rome;
One that for common Knowledge is to seek;
A Plagiary of Sence as well as Greek:
Who being by Nature scandalously dull,
With others Wit still crams his empty Skull;
(Which poyson'd) he spreads round to every Factious Fool:
Yet Mungrel-like, when e're the Jowler writes,
He only howls and grins, but never bites.
His Brandy-Satyrs are the mildest things
That ever Raill'd at Monarchy or Kings;
And thou deserv'st the Rigour of the Laws,
For being his Second in so bad a Cause.
Hadst thou her Modest Look or Beauty seen,
Heard her once speak, or viewd her Graceful Meen;
Hadst thou e're known her charming as the Spring,
Dance like a Goddess, like an Angel sing,
She from thy cursed Censure had been free;
For thine own Satyr would have poyson'd thee.
Yet still thy Shame makes her more Glory have;
For Envy is the Touch-stone of the Brave;
And do's so little from their Fame purloin,
That it shews more the Value of the Coin.
Thus as by Envy Wit gains greater Sway,
As Frosty Winters make the Spring more gay,
As Souldiers by their Scars more Honour won,
As Clouds set off the Brightness of the Sun,
So do's Sophronia merit most Esteem;
The Foyl still adds a Lustre to the Gem.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for John Seeres, 1681.