“ Cruel disease! there thou mistook'st thy power,

No mine of death can that devour :

On her embalmed name it will abide

An everlasting pyramide

As high as heaven the top, as earth the basis wide.

Of female poets who had names of old,

Nothing is shewn, but only told,

And all we hear of them perhaps may be,

Male flattery only and male poetry,

Few minutes did their beauty's lightning waste,

The thunder of their voice did longer last,

But that too soon was past.

The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit

In her own lasting characters are writ,

And they will long my praise of them survive,

Tho' long perhaps too that may live.

Orinda in the female coasts of fame

Engrosses all the goods of a poetic name,

She does no partner with her see:

Does all the business there that we

Are forced to carry on by a whole company. […]