But what he wrote, his Muse not justifies,
Bids him take time! "Love badly writes in fear!
Her worthy praise, if he would truly write,
Her kisses' nectar must the same indite."
"Art, and sweet Nature! Let your influence drop
From me like rain! Yes, yes, in golden showers!
(Whose end is Virtue, let him never stop!)
But fall on her, like dew on sprinkling flowers!
That both together meeting, may beget
An Orpheus! two gems in a soil richly set!"