Were kings attentive to his beck.
You laugh, dear Sir, and pray what then,
Must Flavia call you best of men?
Must high encomiums grace her lays,
And all her notes be swell’d with praise?
Know Sir, when friendship does commence,
All flatt’ry must be spurn’d from thence:
No real friendship can exist,
In the disembling flatt’rer’s breast.
What can poor Flavia then bestow,