Nature boasts of, have possess'd thee;
When with flowers (their verses' stealth),
10Stars, or jewels they invest thee,
Trust not to their borrow'd store:
'Tis but lent to make thee poor.
When with poems they invade thee,
Sing thy praises or disdain;
When they weep, and would persuade thee
That their flames beget that rain;
Let thy breast no baits let in: