University of Virginia Library


149

VIII. To Chancellor QUICKE.

Critics have long pronounced our rugged clime,
For the more tender notes of love, unfit;
The nervous is allow'd us, the sublime,
Humour unrivall'd, and quick-pointed wit.
Hence hath the Muse of Elegy repined,
Nor dared pursue the emotions of her mind.
Say, Quicke, if reason this opinion frame?
But while so partial I have ever found
Thy voice to me, so undisposed to blame,
Thy verdict would perhaps be deem'd unsound.
Yet, who shall judge, if not the few whose life
Hath been untainted by corruption's train?
Removed from dissipation, folly, strife,
The guilty great, and luxury's odious reign?