Miss JENNY W—D—R to Lady ELIZ. M—D—SS, at — Castle, North. LETTER I. CONTAINING, A View from the Parades at…

Sweet are yon Hills, that crown this fertile Vale! Ye genial Springs! PIERIAN Waters, hail!

Hail, Woods and Lawns! Yes—oft I'll tread Yon' Pine-clad Mountain's Side, Oft trace the gay enamel'd Mead, Where AVON rolls his Pride.

Sure, next to fair CASTALIA's Streams And PINDUS' flow'ry Path, APOLLO most the Springs esteems, And verdant Meads of Bath.

The Muses haunt these hallow'd Groves And here their Vigils keep, Here teach fond Swains their hapless Loves In gentle Strains to weep.

From Water sprung like Flow'rs from Dew What Troops of Bards appear! The God of Verse, and Physic too, Inspires them twice a Year.

Take then, my Friend, the sprightly Rhyme, While you inglorious waste your Prime, At Home in cruel Durance pent, On dull domestic Cares intent, Forbid, by Parent's harsh Decree, To share the Joys of Bath with me. Ill-judging Parent! blind to Merit, Thus to confine a Nymph of Spirit! With all thy Talents doom'd to fade And wither in th' unconscious Shade! I vow, my Dear, it moves my Spleen, Such frequent Instances I've seen Of Fathers, cruel and unkind, To all paternal Duty blind. What Wretches do we meet with often, Whose Hearts no Tenderness can soften! Sure all good Authors should expose Such Parents, both in Verse and Prose, And Nymphs inspire with Resolution, Ne'er to submit to Persecution. This wholesome Satyr much enhances The Merit of our best Romances; And modern Plays, that I could mention, With Judgment fraught, and rare Invention Are wrote with much the same Intention; But, thank my Stars! that worthy Pair Who undertook a Guardian's Care, My Spirit never have confin'd: (An Instance of their gen'rous Mind) For Lady B—N—R—D, my Aunt, Herself propos'd this charming Jaunt, All from Redundancy of Care For SIM, her fav'rite Son and Heir: To him the joyous Hours I owe That Bath's enchanting Scenes bestow; Thanks to her Book of choice Receipts, That pamper'd Him with sav'ry Meats; Nor less that Day deserves a Blessing She cramm'd his Sister to Excess in: For now she sends both Son and Daughter For Crudities to drink the Water. And here they are, all Bile and Spleen, The strangest Fish that e'er were seen; With TABBY RUNT, their Maid, poor Creature, The queerest Animal in Nature: I'm certain none of HOGARTH's Sketches E'er form'd a Set of stranger Wretches. I own, my Dear, it hurts my Pride, To see them blund'ring by my Side; My Spirits flag, my Life and Fire Is mortify'd au Desespoir, When SIM, unfashionable Ninny, In Public calls me Cousin Jenny; And yet, to give the Wight his Due, He has some Share of Humour too, A comic Vein of pedant Learning His Conversation you'll discern in, The oddest Compound you can see Of Shrewdness and Simplicity, With nat'ral Strokes of aukward Wit, That oft, like Parthian Arrows hit, For when He seems to dread the Foe He always strikes the hardest Blow; And when you'd think He means to flatter, His Panegyrics turn to Satire: But then no Creature you can find Knows half so little of Mankind, Seems always blund'ring in the dark, And always making some Remark; Remarks, that so provoke one's Laughter, One can't imagine what he's after: And sure you'll thank me for exciting In SIM a wondrous Itch for Writing; With all his serious Grimace To give Descriptions of the Place. No Doubt his Mother will produce His Poetry for gen'ral Use, And if his Bluntness does not fright you, His Observations must delight you; For truly the good Creature's Mind Is honest, generous, and kind: If unprovok'd, will ne'er displease ye, Or ever make one Soul uneasy.— I'll try to make his Sister PRUE Take a small Trip to Pindus too.

And me the Nine shall all inspire To tune for Thee the warbling Lyre; For Thee, the Muse shall ev'ry Day Speed, by the Post, her rapid Way. For Thee, my Friend, I'll oft explore Deep Treasures of Romantic Lore, Nor wonder, if I Gods create, As all good Bards have done of late; 'Twill make my Verse run smooth and even, To call new Deities from Heaven: Come then, thou Goddess I adore, But soft—my Chairman's at the Door, The Ball's begun—my Friend, no more.