But thou, O , who dost not disdain
The Shepherd's Gift, nor scorn the rural Strain;
(Tho' to no pompous Sound the Ear inclines,
While the mean Sense is propt by stronger Lines)
Accept the Sylvan Song, —
With pleasing Look the fearful Bard receive;
You bad him first the humble Cottage leave;
Ready to praise, and willing to excuse,
You gave Assurance to the bashful .
How would I now describe a gen'rous Mind
Improv'd by Study, and by Courts refin'd?
But you (ah! too resolv'd) will not allow
The Verse to tell, what Men already know;
Envy itself their Conduct must approve,
Whom the Prince , and the People .
Tho' you (in this) unkind deny the Bard
The only Subject can his Pains reward,
You cannot make the tuneful  cease,
For Goddesses will sing of whom they please;
Long will the grateful Woods your Name repeat,
And  be the Theme, when next the  meet.