, Madam, your Command I have obey'd
In artless Lines: Of Censure not afraid:
Your Goodness will accept my humble Lays;
Content with this, I seek no better Praise.
Rough as the Road on which I gave them Birth,
Dull as the clouded Morn, or barren Heath.
Vainly I wish, oh could I tune my Song
Sweet as your Name, and as your Virtue strong!
With Pleasure I'd the grateful Theme pursue,
But, I despair — And humbly bid, .