But if beneath thy Numbers soft Disguise,
Some favor'd Swain, some true  lyes;
If  breaths thy secret Pains;
And thy fond Heart beats Measure to thy Strains:
May'st thou, howe'er I grieve, for ever find
The Flame propitious, and the Lover kind:
May  long exert her happy Pow'r,
And make thy Beauty, like thy Verse, endure:
May ev'ry God his friendly Aid afford;
guard thy Flock, and  bless thy Board.