The charms of music to display,
Pray,—cannot _I_ compose and play?
And strains to your each humour suit
On organ, violin, or flute?
If these delights you deem too transient,
We modern authors have, or antient,
Which, while I’ve lungs from phthisicks freed,
To thee with rapture, sweet, I’ll read.
If Homer’s bold, inventive fire,
Or Virgil’s art, you most admire;