My all I’ll make a holocaust to thee.
The deity that ever does attend
Prayers so sincere, to mine did condescend.
I writ, and the judicious prais’d my pen:
Could any doubt ensuing glory then?
What pleasing raptures fill’d my ravish’d sense,
How strong, how sweet, Fame, was thy influence!
And thine, false hope, that to my flatter’d sight
Didst glories represent so near and bright!
By thee deceiv’d, methought each verdant tree