Forgive, O sacred Bard, nor yet refuse
This from a mean, but an unbyass'd Muse:
By no vile Int'rests, by no Faction sway'd;
Nor yet to Flatt'ry, or blind Love betray'd:
But fir'd by Vertue, to give Worth Applause,
Tho' weak, yet willing to maintain thy Cause.
Oh! Cou'd I boast a Genius such as thine,
In lasting Praise thy Name Should ever shine:
The darksome Shades of Prejudice, and Night,
Should vanish from the undiscerning Sight;
Thy Wit should drive the Nightly Glooms away,
Like dissipating Clouds before the Rising Day.
Some Muses, when they mourn, make others sleep,
When yours in Tears, sure ev'ry Eye must weep:
What Heart, tho' cold as Ice, tho' hard as Flint,
That does not Meliora' s Griefs lament?
All must be mov'd by such well-painted Woe,
And ev'ry Soul with soft Compassion flow:
But when thy Muse assumes the Comick Strain,
Cares would invade our peaceful Breasts in vain,
The Hum'rous Scene diverts, and all is Joy again.

 Go on, Great Youth, persist to charm Mankind;
You best can please, while you improve the Mind.