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PANEGYRICAL AND GALLANT.

EPISTLE I.

THE

FEMINEAD:

OR,

FEMALE GENIUS.

ADDRESSED TO

MR. RICHARDSON,

Author of Pamela, Clarissa, and Grandison.

BY JOHN DUNCOMBE, M. A.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCC LI.

SHALL lordly man, the theme of every lay,
Usurp the muse's tributary bay?

In kingly state on Pindus' summit sit,
Tyrant of verse, and arbiter of wit?

By Salic law the female right deny,

And view their genius with regardless eye?
Justice forbid and every muse inspire

To sing the glories of a sister-choir!

Rise, rise, bold swain; and to the listening grove Resound the praises of the sex you love;

Tell how, adorn'd with every charm, they shine, In mind and person equally divine,

'Till man, no more to female merit blind, Admire the person, but adore the mind.

To these weak strains, O thou! the sex's friend And constant patron, Richardson! attend! Thou, who so oft with pleas'd, but anxious care, Hast watch'd the dawning genius of the fair, With wonted smiles wilt hear thy friend display The various graces of the female lay; Studious from folly's yoke their minds to free, And aid the generous cause espous'd by thee.

Long o'er the world did Prejudice maintain,
By sounds like these, her undisputed reign:
"Woman! she cried, to thee, indulgent heaven
Has all the charms of outward beauty given:
Be thine the boast, unrival'd, to enslave
The great, the wise, the witty, and the brave;
Deck'd with the Paphian rose's damask glow,
And the vale-lily's vegetable snow,

Be thine, to move majestic in the dance,
To roll the eye, and aim the tender glance,

Or touch the strings, and breathe the melting song,
Content to emulate that airy throng,

Who to the sun their painted plumes display,

And gaily glitter on the hawthorn spray,

Or wildly warble in the beechen grove,

Careless of aught but music, joy, and love."

Heavens! could such artful, slavish sounds beguile The freeborn sons of Britain's polish'd isle ? Could they, like fam'd Ulysses' dastard crew, Attentive listen, and enamor'd view,

Nor drive the Syren to that dreary plain,

In loathsome pomp, where eastern tyrants reign;
Where each fair neck the yoke of slavery galls,
Clos'd in a proud seraglio's gloomy walls,
And taught, that levell'd with the brutal kind,
Nor sense, nor souls to women are assign'd.

Our British nymphs with happier omens rove,
At freedom's call, thro' wisdom's sacred grove,
And, as with lavish hand each sister grace
Shapes the fair form, and regulates the face,
Each sister muse, in blissful union join'd,
Adorns, improves, and beautifies the mind.
Even now fond fancy in our polish'd land
Assembled shows a blooming, studious band:
With various arts our reverence they engage,
Some turn the tuneful, some the moral page,
These, led by Contemplation, soar on high,
And range the heavens with philosophic eye;
While those, surrounded by a vocal choir,
The canvas tinge, or touch the warbling lyre.

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