wise Reflections in thy Lays are shown,
As Flaccus' Muse, in all her Pride, might own:
So Elegant, and so Refin'd, thy Praise,
As grearest Minds, at once, might mend and please:
No florid Toys, in pompous Numbers drest;
But justest Thoughts, in purest Stile, exprest:
Whene'er thy Muse designs the Heart to move,
The melting Reader must, with Tears, approve;
Or when, more gay, her spritely Satire bites,
'Tis not to wound, but to instruct, She writes.