OF blissful Groves I sing, and flow'ry Plains:
Ye Sylvan Nymphs, assist my rural Strains.
Shall  Forest gain a deathless Fame,
And grow immortal, as the Poet's Name;
While not a Bard, of all the tuneful Throng,
With these delightful Fields adorns his Song?
Thy Gardens,  boast an equal Theme,
And only ask an equal Muse's Flame.
What, tho' no Virgin Nymphs, of CYNTHIA's Train,
With Belt and Quiver grace the verdant Plain?
What, tho' no fabled consecrated Floods
Flow o'er thy Fields, or murmur thro' thy Woods?
My Song thy real Beauties shall pursue,
And paint the lovely Scenes, and paint 'em true;
A pleasing Task! Nor slight shall be the Praise,
If Royal CAROLINE accept the Lays.