The Maids of Britain, in the Times of old,
Were fam'd for Beauty; so have Poets told:
But ne'er could Britain boast so bright a Race
As what does now her happy Annals grace.

Our Fathers glory'd, if, sometimes, They found
A lovely Sal'sbury, or Rosamond:
Names, could They now return to Life again,
Must undistinguisht, in the Crowd, remain.
Then, Beauty thin was scatter'd, here and there;
Now, a full Harvest rises every where.

But, much superior in each heav'nly Grace,
Appear the Fair Ones of the Enfield Race:
Born to command, supremely bright They shine,
And with their Eyes assert the Right divine.
Ten thousand charms, in each, at once display
Their blended Radiance, and eclipse the Day.

Why then, O Muse! remains thy Harp unstrung?
Still art Thou silent, and are These unsung!
Arise for Shame, to distant Times declare,
How much These are the Fairest of the Fair.

Whereby They reign, wherein They most excel,
Severely just, to all impartial, tell:
Whose Shape, whose Air, whose Manners most surprize;
Whose sparkling Wit, and whose commanding Eyes.

Whilst Others, led by mercenary Views,
Caress the Great, and prostitute the Muse,
Be thine Ambition, thy peculiar Care,
In lasting Numbers to record the Fair:
Each Maid celestial in thy Verse be shewn,
Adorn'd with ev'ry Grace whereby Herself is known.

Florinda, blooming, with an Air divine,
Strait as the Cedar, graceful as the Pine,
Sweetly majestick like the Queen of Jove,
Checking Presumption, but commanding Love.

Anna, whose Eyes eternal Joys disclose;
Bright as the Lilly, sweeter than the Rose:
The Cyprian Dame she looks, she talks, she moves,
Gay as her Sparrows, gentle as her Doves.

Eliza, Nature's Pride, in whom we view
The finest Lines her Pencil ever drew;
Her Smiles outshine the Glories of the Spring,
And Angels listen when she deigns to sing.

Belinda, lov'd by All: In whom we find
A Form engaging, a celestial Mind:
Wise, but not vain: Superior, but not proud:
Above, and yet descending to the Crowd.
The Gods to Her have much Good--nature giv'n,
That richest Blessing in the Stores of Heav'n.

Not thus, Roxana, who in Scandal bold,
Censures the Young, and ridicules the Old:
In Pastime flings malicious Slanders round,
And with each Laugh inflicts a deadly Wound:
No Tyes whatever can her Wit controul,
Nor would she lose a Jest to save a Soul.

Wit, unrestrain'd by Reason's cool Command,
Is like a Dagger in a Mad--Man's Hand,
With Mischief wantoning, It strikes at All,
And Friends and Foes alike before Its Fury fall.

With Beauty blest, Amanda trips along,
And all around the Loves and Graces throng,
Bask in her Smiles, and wanton in her Eyes,
Whilst each Beholder sighs, adores, and dies.

Sing, Thou, O Muse! Lusinda, heav'nly Fair!
Her artless Blushes, her endearing Air:
Her generous Soul unable to pretend,
Her gentle Language speaking still the Friend,
To blame unwilling, eager to commend.
Lovely but luckless! Weeping all around
Her Train of Loves, with Bands of Willow bound,
And Hymen's Torch extinguisht on the Ground.

Sing, Rosalinda, glorious to behold,
Her Eyes of Diamonds, and her Hair of Gold,
Rubies her Lips, two heaving Hills of Snow
Her Breasts, whence all Arabia's Odours flow.

Miranda smiling like the Month of May,
Mild as the Dawning, brighter than the Day.
How fair the Flow'r, when such the Bud appears!
And what her Prime, when thus her Infant--Years!

These, and the rest, O Muse! do Thou rehearse,
And may their Names for ever grace thy Verse:
Who first in Publick, who in Private shine,
Their Arts declare, and whither They incline.

Her, prais'd for Housewifry, whose spreading Fame
Large Works of rich Embroidery proclaim.
While thro' the Tent the nimble Needle flys,
Trees, Fruits, and Flowers, Men and Monkies, rise,
And naked Cupids--hunting--Butterflies.

That beauteous Maid who charms the Eyes of all
Whene'er she moves: O could thy Numbers fall
Smooth as her Dance when she adorns the Ball!
In times, exact like her's, the Planets run
Their constant Courses round about the Sun.

The Fair One shew whose Conduct is approv'd,
And Her whom Envy blames for having lov'd:
Who fittest at the Tea--Table presides;
Who diffident, or in Herself confides:
The Maid most prudent: The most ready She
At close Dispute, or sprightly Repartée:
Who unaffected, cheerful spends her Time:
And who reserv'd, believes a Smile a Crime:
Who most minds Other's; who her own Affairs:
And who, religious, always comes to Pray'rs.

Aurelia, never seen without a Smile,
But deaf and cruel as the Crocodile,
Who proud of Power, arms her Eyes to kill.

Mira, mischievous, but against her Will:
Her Bosom swells with Pity when she hears
The Lover's Sighs, and sees his flowing Tears:
With such Compassion sooths his raging Pain,
He may be wretched,--but cannot complain.

Wanton Statira, frisking o'er the Lawns,
Thoughtless and sportive as the bounding Fawns:
All Forms deriding with a decent Pride,
She scorns by Others Maxims to be try'd;
Freedom enjoying, by no Rules confin'd,
Acts what she lists, uncertain as the Wind.

Describe whom Dress, whom Negligence adorns;
Who strives for Conquest, and who Conquest scorns:
Who can the longest List of Lovers boast:
And who has ponder'd melting Ovid most:
The various Charms of each commanding Maid
Is now thy Task,--and Cupid be thine Aid.

Begin the Song:--

--but, hark! methinks I hear
Phoebus forbidding, whisper in mine Ear,
Forbear, Vain Bard! correct thy wild Career.
Timely desist, while Thou may'st be forgiv'n,
Presumptuous Mortal! would'st Thou picture Heav'n!
Learn thine own Strength: nor rashly strive to rise
On flagging Pinions to explore the Skies;
Remember Him who soar'd too near the Sun,
And warn'd by his sad Fate prevent thine own.

Great God! the Muse obeys.--

--Her Want of Skill
Excuse, You Fair Ones! and accept her Will.
For tho' unequal, She the Task declines,
And scarce dares view these undigested Lines,
Her mean Endeavours, may, perhaps, incite
Some able Bard to sing your Charms aright.

As first in Beauty, so for ever stand
Foremost in Fame, superior in Command,
You Maids of Enfield, may your Charms be known
Beneath the rising and the setting Sun!
And all Mankind to You their Homage pay,
Whilst Empires change, and Ages roll away!