Enjoy Your Dear Wit And

Now Conscience Wakes Despair That Slumber'd,-wakes The Bitter Memory Of What He Was, What Is, And What Must Be Worse.

Flowers Of All Hue, And Without Thorn The Rose.

And Ever Against Eating Cares Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse

Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

Daughter To That Good Earl, Once President Of England's Council, And Her Treasury, Who Lived In Both, Unstained With Gold Or Fee, And Left Them Both, More In Himself Content, Till Sad The Breaking Of That Parliament Broke Him, As That Dishonest Victory At Chaeronea, Fatal To Liberty, Killed With Report That Old Man Eloquent. Though Later Born Than To Have Known The Days Wherein Your Father Flourished, Yet By You, Madam, Methinks I See Him Living Yet; So Well Your Words His Noble Virtues Praise, That All Both Judge You To Relate Them True, And To Possess Them, Honoured Margaret.