 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
115
THE SWORD-KNOT:
TO Mrs. WILBRAHAM BOOTLE.
Be ever sworn, my Sword, to Honour's Cause,
While round thy Hilt these golden Folds are ty'd,
These Folds, the pleasing Token of Applause,
That waking others Envy, wake my Pride.
While round thy Hilt these golden Folds are ty'd,
These Folds, the pleasing Token of Applause,
That waking others Envy, wake my Pride.
For they were work'd by Hands that serve a Mind
Where lives each Grace that can embellish Life;
Where ev'ry Virtue may its Image find,
To form the Friend, the Parent, and the Wife!
Where lives each Grace that can embellish Life;
Where ev'ry Virtue may its Image find,
To form the Friend, the Parent, and the Wife!
116
Nor small my Boast, that while the Fair-one wrought
With artful Elegance, this Knot I wear,
Her Goodness deign'd to waste on me a Thought,
Destin'd for me her Toil, and deem'd me worth her Care.
With artful Elegance, this Knot I wear,
Her Goodness deign'd to waste on me a Thought,
Destin'd for me her Toil, and deem'd me worth her Care.
| The poetical works of George Keate | |