But wish you still may better grow?
Your wit still more and more refine,}
And all the beauties of your min’,}
With radient lustre ever shine;}
In virtue’s paths, still on to tread,
Which to the fair Elysium lead;
May every action justly claim
The Poet’s wish, that thing call’d Fame.
As through life’s winding vale you rove,
May still your stars propitious prove,