With flow'r as fweet or fruit as fair,

As if produc'd by nature there.

IV.

Not rich, I render what I may,
I feize thy name in haste,

And place it in this first affay,

Left this fhould prove the last.

'Tis where it should be, in a plan

That holds in view the good of man.

V.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,

Should be the poet's heart,

Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blaz'd by art.

No mufes on thefe lines attend,
I fink the poet in the friend.

END OF VOL I.