Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea


Adam Posed


Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,
Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,
Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
Could he a vain fantastic nymph have seen,
In all her airs, in all her antic graces,
Her various fashions, and more various faces;
How had it posed that skill, which late assigned
Just appellations to each several kind!
A right idea of the sight to frame;
Tíhave guessed from what new element she came;
Tíhave hit the wavíring form, or givín this thing a name.






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