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to The Author On His Poem Upon Tea




Let Rustick Satyr, now no more Abuse,
In rude Unskilful Strains, thy Tuneful Muse;
No more let Envy lash thy true-bred Steed,
Nor cross thy easy, just, and prudent Speed:
Who dext'rously doth bear or loose the Rein,
To climb each lofty Hill, or scour the Plain:
With proper Weight and Force thy Courses run;
Where still thy Pegasus has Wonders done,
Come home with Strength, and thus the Prize has Won.
But now takes Wing, and to the Skies aspires;
While Vanquish'd Envy the bold Flight admires,
And baffled Satyr to his Den retires.
--T. W.





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