Thus arm'd, proceed: The breezes court your wing:
Go range all Helicon, taste every spring;
From varying nature cull th' innoxious spoil,
And, whilst amusement sooths the generous toil,
Let puzzled critics with suspicious spite
Descant on what you can, or cannot write;
True to yourselves, not anxious for renown,
Nor court the world's applause, nor dread its frown,
Guard your own breasts, and be the bulwark there,
To know no envy, and no malice fear.
At last you'll find, thus stoic-like prepar'd,
That verse and virtue are their own reward.