“Rude and imperfect is her rural song.”
But she on public candour firm relies,
And humbly begs they’ll pardon what is wrong.
III.
And if some lucky thought, while you peruse,
Some little beauty strike th’ inquiring mind;
In gratitude she’ll thank th’ indulgent Muse,
Nor count her toil, where you can pleasure find.
IV.
Upon your voice depends her share of fame,