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Provok'd, and urg'd, we resolutely must
To the few Virtues that we have, be just.
For who have long'd, or who have labour'd more,
To search the Treasures of the Roman store;
Or dig in Græcian Mines for purer Oar?
The noblest Fruits Transplanted, in our Isle
With early Hope, and fragrant Blossoms smile.
Familiar Ovid tender Thoughts inspires,
And Nature seconds all his soft Desires:
Theocritus do's now to Us belong;
And Albion's Rocks repeat his Rural Song.
Who has not heard how Italy was blest,
Above the Medes, above the wealthy East?
Or Gallus Song, so tender, and so True,
As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view!
When Mourning Nymphs attend their Daphnis Herse,
Who do's not Weep, that Reads the moving Verse!
To the few Virtues that we have, be just.
For who have long'd, or who have labour'd more,
To search the Treasures of the Roman store;
Or dig in Græcian Mines for purer Oar?
The noblest Fruits Transplanted, in our Isle
With early Hope, and fragrant Blossoms smile.
Familiar Ovid tender Thoughts inspires,
And Nature seconds all his soft Desires:
Theocritus do's now to Us belong;
And Albion's Rocks repeat his Rural Song.
Who has not heard how Italy was blest,
Above the Medes, above the wealthy East?
Or Gallus Song, so tender, and so True,
As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view!
When Mourning Nymphs attend their Daphnis Herse,
Who do's not Weep, that Reads the moving Verse!
