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11

AN ANSWER TO A PANEGYRICK,

In which the unknown Author, writing in the Pastoral Style, supposes me handsome.

Who-e'er thou art, so tuneful are thy Lays,
Tho' misapply'd, I must approve the Praise.
The great Encomiums (not my Due) refuse,
Yet own the Force of thy superior Muse.
O happy they, who live in rural Plains,
Where Shepherds sing in such melodious Strains!
Alas! my humble Thoughts could ne'er aspire
To equal thine, or emulate thy Fire:

12

My Songs th' attentive Nymphs with Pleasure hear,
Because in me no Rival-charms they fear.
My Shape erroneous, and my Stature low
Can to the Eye no dang'rous Beauty show.
The list'ning Youths, who at a distance hear,
Secure of Freedom, may approach more near.
All I can boast, is this one single Grant,
Just Sense enough to know how much I want:
Unfit to teach, the Office I decline,
And ask Instruction from such Pens as thine.