 | Heroick Love |  |
For You, the Viler Rabble of the Pit,
Who want good Nature, tho' you have no Wit.
Maliciously you imitate the Times,
Like Judges try the Men, and not their Crimes;
With Noise and Nonsense whom you hate decry,
And if demanded, give no reason why,
But when no pity can the Torrent stem,
Attaint the Poet, whom you can't condemn.
'Tis on that shining Circle we depend,
[To the Ladies.
For You—
Our Poet writes, in gratitude defend:
Of Love and Honour, he a Pattern meant,
And took the bright Ideas, that you lent:
Your Picture drawn, show then the Painter Grace
Who fails, in an inimitable Face.
Who want good Nature, tho' you have no Wit.
Maliciously you imitate the Times,
Like Judges try the Men, and not their Crimes;
With Noise and Nonsense whom you hate decry,
And if demanded, give no reason why,
But when no pity can the Torrent stem,
Attaint the Poet, whom you can't condemn.
'Tis on that shining Circle we depend,
[To the Ladies.
For You—
Our Poet writes, in gratitude defend:
Of Love and Honour, he a Pattern meant,
And took the bright Ideas, that you lent:
Your Picture drawn, show then the Painter Grace
Who fails, in an inimitable Face.
| Heroick Love | |