Why pining me, offer'st the precious food
20To one by whom nor priz'd, nor understood;
So some clear brook to the full main, to pay
Her needless crystal tribute hastes away,
Profusely foolish; whilst her niggard tide
Starves the poor flowers that grow along her side.
Thou who my glories art design'd to own,
Come then, and reap the joys that I have sown:
Yet in thy pride acknowledge, though thou bear
The happy prize away, the palm I wear.