 | An Impossible Thing |  |
To thee, Dear Dick, this Tale I send,
Both as a Critick and a Friend.
I tell it with some Variation
(Not altogether a Translation)
From La Fontaine; an Author, Dick,
Whose Muse would touch thee to the quick.
The Subject is of that same kind
To which thy Heart seems most inclin'd:
How Verse may alter it, God knows,
Thou lov'st it well, I'm sure, in Prose,
So, without Preface, or Pretence,
To hold thee longer in Suspence,
I shall proceed, as I am able,
To the Recital of my Fable.
Both as a Critick and a Friend.
I tell it with some Variation
(Not altogether a Translation)
From La Fontaine; an Author, Dick,
Whose Muse would touch thee to the quick.
The Subject is of that same kind
To which thy Heart seems most inclin'd:
2
Thou lov'st it well, I'm sure, in Prose,
So, without Preface, or Pretence,
To hold thee longer in Suspence,
I shall proceed, as I am able,
To the Recital of my Fable.
| An Impossible Thing | |