Bo aoe 
Lo! ona vifit hither bent, 
High-plum’d dmbition ftalks about ; 
But fhould he enter, fweet Content 
Will give me warning—f{hut him out. 
Perhaps the Mufe may pafs this way, 
And tho’ fall oft ’ve bent the knee, 
And long invok’d her magic fway, * 
Smit with the love of harmony; ” 
Alone tho’ the might pleafe—yet ftill : 
I know fhe’ll with Améiticn come; 
With luft of fame my heart fhe’ll fill, 
She’ll break my reft(—I’m not at home, 
‘There is a rafcal old and hideous, 
Who oft (and fometimes not in vain) ~ 
Clofe at my gate has watch’d affiduous, 
In hopes he might admittance gain; 
His name is Care—if he fhould call, 
Quick out of doors with vigour throw him; ; 
And tell the mifcreant once for all 
I know him not, I ne’er will know him. 
Perhaps then Bacchus, foe to Care, 
May think 4e’// fure’ my favour win; 
His promifes of joy are fair 
But falfe—you muft not Jet him in, 
But welcome that fweet Power, on whom 
The young Defres attendant move, 
Still flufh’d with Beauty’s vernal bloom,’ 
Parent of blils, the Queen of Love. 
O! you will know her, fhe has ftole 
The luftre of my Delia’s eye; 
Admit her, hail her—for my foul 
Breathes double life when fhe is nigh. 
If then fern Wi/dom at my gate 
Should knock, with all her formal train, 
Tell her I’m bufy—fhe may wait, 
Or, if the chufes—call again. 
“147 
By 
