 | The Poems of Ambrose Philips |  |
Though
Britain's hardy Troops demand your Care,
And cheerful Friends your Hours of Leisure share;
O Craggs, for Candour known! indulge awhile
My fond Desire, and on my Labour smile:
Nor count it always an Abuse of Time
To read a Long Epistle, though in Rhyme.
And cheerful Friends your Hours of Leisure share;
O Craggs, for Candour known! indulge awhile
My fond Desire, and on my Labour smile:
Nor count it always an Abuse of Time
To read a Long Epistle, though in Rhyme.
To you I send my Thoughts, too long confin'd,
And ease the Burden of a Loyal Mind;
To you my secret Transports I disclose,
That rise above the languid Powers of Prose.
But, while these artless Numbers You peruse,
Think 'tis my Heart that dictates, not the Muse;
My Heart which at the name of Brunswick fires,
And no Assistance from the Muse requires.
And ease the Burden of a Loyal Mind;
To you my secret Transports I disclose,
That rise above the languid Powers of Prose.
But, while these artless Numbers You peruse,
Think 'tis my Heart that dictates, not the Muse;
My Heart which at the name of Brunswick fires,
And no Assistance from the Muse requires.
| The Poems of Ambrose Philips | |