And useless drafts in many a mouldering heap,
Each for parade to catch the client’s eye,
Salkeld and Ventris in oblivion sleep.
In these dead hours what now remains for me,
Still to the stool and to the desk confined,
Debarr’d from Autumn shades, and liberty
Whose lips are soft as my Cleora’s kind.
Hail, beauteous nymph! How does thy presence gild
The brow of care, and mitigate my pains!
With thee (such ecstacy thy beauties yield)