Poor to the World, I'd yet not live in vain,
But show its lords their hearts, and my disdain.
Yet shall not Satire all my song engage
In indiscriminate and idle rage;
True praise, where Virtue prompts, shall gild each line,
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And long—if Vanity deceives not—shine.
For, though in harsher strains, the strains of woe,
And unadorn'd my heart-felt murmurs flow,
Yet time shall be when this thine humbled friend