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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