TO you who ne'er the willing Verse refuse,
Thus sings an humble but a grateful Muse:
Our Theme is Hope — but of a diff'rent kind,
The Bane or Blessing of the subject Mind;
This dawning Joy that to the Soul was given,
As a short Earnest of its future Heav'n:
To blame is not the Purpose of my Song,
But warn our Sisters not to place it wrong.
Shun trifling Hope, that bids your Fancy roll,
The constant Torment of a restless Soul:
For two pale Handmaids are for ever near,
Sick Disappointment and the secret Tear:
'Tis this that makes the restless Heart repine,
Beneath the Treasures of an  Mine
Much Fortune gives — Yet,  they cry,
And some new Prospect lures the dazzl'd Eye:
Like wanton Babes they reach at something more,
And drop the Gewgaws which they held before.