anuscript, that Numbers would be ready to suspect they
were not really the Writings of PHILLIS, he has procured the following
Attestation, from the most respectable Characters in Boston, that none
might have the least Ground for disputing their Original.

WE whose Names are under-written, do assure the World, that the POEMS
specified in the following Page,* were (as we verily believe) written
by Phillis, a young Negro Girl, who was but a few Years since, brought
an uncultivated Barbarian from Africa, and has ever since been, and
now is, under the Disadvantage of serving as a Slave in a Family in
this Town. She has been examined by some of the best Judges, and is
thought qualified to write them.

His Excellency THOMAS HUTCHINSON, Governor.

The Hon. ANDREW OLIVER, Lieutenant-Governor.

The Hon. Thomas Hubbard, | The Rev. Charles Chauncey, D. D.
The Hon. John Erving, | The Rev. Mather Byles, D. D.
The Hon. James Pitts, | The Rev. Ed. Pemberton, D. D.
The Hon. Harrison Gray, | The Rev. Andrew Elliot, D. D.
The Hon. James Bowdoin, | The Rev. Samuel Cooper, D. D.
John Hancock, Esq; | The Rev. Mr. Saumel Mather,
Joseph Green, Esq; | The Rev. Mr. John Moorhead,
Richard Carey, Esq; | Mr. John Wheat ey, her Master.

N. B. The original Attestation, signed by the above Gentlemen,
may be seen by applying to Archibald Bell, Bookseller,
No. 8, Aldgate-Street.

_________________________________________________________

*The Words "following Page," allude to the Contents
of the Manuscript Copy, with are wrote at the
Back of the above Attestation.

P O E M S

O N

V A R I O U S S U B J E C T S.

___________

To M AE C E N A S.

MAECENAS, you, beneath the myrtle shade,
Read o'er what poets sung, and shepherds play'd.
What felt those poets but you feel the same?
Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?
Their noble strains your equal genius shares
In softer language, and diviner airs.
While Homer paints, lo! circumfus'd in air,
Celestial Gods in mortal forms appear;
Swift as they move hear each recess rebound,
Heav'n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound.
Great Sire of verse, before my mortal eyes,
The lightnings blaze across the vaulted skies,
And, as the thunder shakes the heav'nly plains,
A deep felt horror thrills through all my veins.
When gentler st