“It is the Observation of some Historian; but I forget where I met with it:  that England has ow’d to Women the greatest Blessings she has been distinguish’d by.  In the Case, we are now upon, this Reflection will stand justified.—­

“We are indebted to the Reason and Courage of a Lady, for the Introduction of this Art; which gives such Strength in its Progress, that the Memory of its Illustrious Foundress will be render’d Sacred by it, to future Ages.

“This Ornament of her Sex, and Country, who ennobles her own Nobility, by her Learning, Wit, and Vertues, accompanying her Consort into Turkey, observ’d the Benefit of this Practice, with its Frequency, even among those obstinate Proedestinarians; and brought it over, for the Service, and the Safety, of her Native England; where she consecrated its first effects on the Persons of her own fine Children!  And has, already, receiv’d this Glory from it, ’That the Influence of her example has reach’d as high as the Blood Royal.’  And our noblest, and most ancient Families, in Confirmation of her happy Judgment, add the daily Experience of those, who are most dear to them.

“I Have seen a short Poetical Essay, on the Occasion we are now treating of.  I wou’d say, if I meant the Verses an Encomium they shou’d be envied for,’ That their Subject need not blush at them!’

  On Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s bringing with her, out of
   Turkey, the Art of Inoculating the Small-Pox.

When Greece, reviving into short Delight, Felt Pride, and Comfort, at Our Muse’s Sight:  The Rival’d Nine no sooner saw her Face, But ev’n their Envy gave their Wonder Place!  Charm’d into Love, of what eclips’d their Fame!  They mak’d Apollo, with her pow’rful Name.  See!—­God of Grecian Wit! Urania cries, How sweet a Muse, the Western World supplies!  Say, shou’d she ask some Favour, from your throne, What could you bid her take, that’s not her own? Sparkling in Charms, the heav’nly Stranger view So grac’d! she scarce can owe a Beam to You!  Beauty, with Love, her Pow’r to Yours prefers:  And Wit, and Learning, are already, Hers! Rous’d, at her name,—­receding from her Eyes, The gazing God rose slow, in soft Surprise!  Fair Miracle, he said,—­and paus’d a while:  Then, thus,—­Sweet Glory, of your envied Isle!  Charm’d, and oblig’d, lest, we ungrateful seem, Bear hence, at least, one Mark of our Esteem. One, Of my three great Claims, your Wish may fit; Whose Voice is Musick:  and whose Thoughts are Wit!  Physick, alone, remains, to grant you, here—­ A Skill! your godlike_ Pity will endear. Form’d to give Wounds, which must no Ease procure, Atone your Influ’nce, by new Arts,