��'Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, Vows to Myrtale the fair ; Grac'd with all that charms the heart, Blushing nature, smiling art. Venus, courted by an ode, On the bard her Dove bestow'd. Vested with a master's right Now Anacreon rules my flight: His the letters that you see, Weighty charge consign'd to me : Think not yet my service hard, Joyless task without reward : Smiling at my master's gates, Freedom my return awaits ; But the liberal grant in vain Tempts me to be wild again : Can a prudent Dove decline Blissful bondage such as mine? Over hills and fields to roam, Fortune's guest without a home; Under leaves to hide one's head, Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed ; Now my better lot bestows Sweet repast, and soft repose ; Now the generous bowl I sip As it leaves Anacreon's lip; Void of care, and free from dread, From his fingers snatch his bread, Then with luscious plenty gay, Round his chamber dance and play ; Or from wine as courage springs, O'er his face extend my wings ; And when feast and frolick tire, Drop asleep upon his lyre. This is all, be quick and go, More than all thou canst not know ; Let me now my pinions ply, I have chatter'd like a pye.'
When I had finished, * But you must remember to add (says Mr. Johnson) that though these verses were planned, and even begun, when I was sixteen years old, I never could find time to make an end of them before I was sixty-eight V
1 He had perhaps shown these finished, to Miss Boothby in 1755 >
verses, or as many of them as were for writing to him in that year she
VOL. I. N This
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