rawn, the absent mind)
Allows the fop more liberty to gaze;
Who gently for the tender cause enquires;
The cause indeed is a defect of sense,
Yet is the Spleen alledged, and still the dull pretence.

The influence which Spleen has over religious minds, is admirably
painted in the next stanza.

By spleen, religion, all we know;
That should enlighten here below,
Is veiled in darkness, and perplext
With anxious doubts, with endless scruples vext
And some restraint imply'd from each perverted text;
Whilst touch not, taste not what is freely given,
Is but thy niggard voice disgracing bounteous Heaven.
From speech restrain'd, by the deceits abus'd,
To desarts banish'd; or in cells reclus'd,
Mistaken vot'ries, to the powers divine,
Whilst they a purer sacrifice design,
Do but the spleen obey, and worship at thy shrine.

A collection of this lady's poems was published at London 1713 in 8vo.
containing likewise a Tragedy never acted, entitled Aristomenes, or the
Royal Shepherd. The general scenes are in Aristomenes's camp, near the
walls of Phaerea, sometimes the plains among the Shepherds. A great
number of our authoress's poems still continue unpublished, in the hands
of the rev. Mr. Creake, and some were in possession of the right hon.
the countess of Hertford.

The countess of Winchelsea died August 9, 1720, without issue. She was
happy in the friendship of Mr. Pope, who addresses a copy of verses to
her, occasioned by eight lines in the Rape of the Lock: they contain a
very elegant compliment.

In vain you boast poetic names of yore,
And cite those Saphoes we admire no more:
Fate doom'd the fall of ev'ry female wit,
But doom'd it then, when first Ardelia writ.
Of all examples by the world confest,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the best,
Who like her mistress on Britannia's throne
Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise, you but in vain essay;
E'en while you write, you take that praise away:
Light to the stars, the sun does thus restore,
And shines himself 'till they are seen no more.

The answer which the countess makes to the above, is rather more
exquisite than the lines of Mr. Pope; he is foil'd at his own weapons,
and outdone in the elegance of compliment.

Disarm'd with so genteel an air,
The contest I give o'er;
Yet Alexander have a care,
And shock the sex no more.
We rule the world our life's who