 | Occasional Poems |  |
63
To a LADY,
Who made me a Present of a Silver Pen.
Fair One, accept the Thanks I owe,'Tis all a grateful Heart can do.
If e'er my Soul the Muse inspire
With Raptures and Poetick Fire,
Your kind Munificence I'll praise,
To you a thousand Altars raise:
Jove shall descend in golden Rain,
Or die a Swan; but sing in vain.
Phœbus the witty and the gay,
Shall quit the Chariot of the Day,
To bask in your superior Ray.
Your Charms shall ev'ry God subdue,
And ev'ry Goddess envy you.
64
This one great Boon, I ask no more:
O gracious Nymph, be kind as fair,
Nor with Disdain neglect my Pray'r,
So shall your Goodness be confess'd,
And I your Slave entirely bless'd;
This Pen no vulgar Theme shall stain,
The noblest Palm your Gift shall gain,
To write to you, nor write in vain.
| Occasional Poems | |