What greatly contributed to increase her Knowledge in Divinity, History, Physick, Controversy, as well as Poetry was her attentive hearing most that I read upon those Heads throa the long evenings of the Winters as we sat together.
From a number of poems written after her marriage I select this one, headed ‘An Invitation into the Country, in Imitation of Horace,’ not so much for its literary merit as that it shows more sprightliness of treatment than the other elaborated and stilted productions, and also gives us a contrast between the Medford
of 1730 and that of today.
From the soft Shades and from the balmy Sweets
Of Medford's flow'ry Vales, and green Retreats,
Your absent Delia to her Father sends,
And prays to see him 'ere the Summer ends.
Now while the Earth's with beautious Verdure dy'd,
And Flora paints the Meads in all her Pride;
While leaden trees Pomonia's Bounty own,
And Ceres' Treasures do the Fields adorn,
From the thick Smokes, and noisy Town, O come,
And in these Plains awhile forget your Home.
Thoa my small incomes never can afford,
Like wealthy Celsus, to regale a Lord;
No Ivory Tables groan beneath the Weight
Of sumptuous Dishes, serv'd in massy Plate;
The Forest ne'er was search'd for Food for me,
Nor from my Hounds the timerous Hare does flee:
No leaden Thunder strikes the Fowl in Air,
Nor from my Shaft the winged Death do fear.
With silken Nets I ne'er the Lake despoil,
Nor with my Bait the larger Fish beguile.
No Wine, but what does from my Apples flow,
My frugal House on any can bestow.
But thoa rich Dainties never spread my Board,
Nor my cool Vaults Calabrian Wines afford,
Yet what is neat and wholesome I can spread,
My good fat Bacon and our homely Bread,
With which my healthful Family is fed.
Milk from the Cow, and Butter newly churn'd
And new fresh Cheese, with Curds and Cream just turn'd.