To
a
Lady
in
the
Spleen
,
whom
the
Author
was
desir'd
to
amuse
.
Why
,
lovely
Lelia
,
so
depress'd
?
With
wonted
Smiles
your
Eyes
adorn
;
Drive
gloomy
Sorrow
from
your
Breast
,
And
shine
out
,
beauteous
,
as
the
Morn
.
The
fair
Pendarvis
bid
me
try
,
For
you
to
tune
my
Lyre
again
;
To
your
lov'd
Presence
instant
fly
,
And
sooth
you
with
some
joyous
Strain
.
But
if
Pendarvis
,
born
to
please
,
Does
in
her
native
Province
fail
,
Nor
can
your
anxious
Bosom
ease
;
Alas
!
how
should
my
Muse
prevail
?
Shall
Heav'n
,
that
form'd
thee
wond'rous
fair
,
Behold
thee
thus
repining
lie
?
Dependent
on
that
Guardian
Care
,
To
blissful
Prospects
turn
your
Eye
.
Lelia
,
thy
lovely
Form
survey
;
Let
blooming
Beauty
plead
her
Cause
:
Her
pow'rful
Empire
fleets
away
Too
soon
,
alas
!
by
Nature's
Laws
.