Where god Apollo guards the limpid fount,
And the glad muses climb the vocal mount;
You whom the voice invites to taste their charms,
Whom verse transports, and tuneful fancy warms;
Before you press the syrens to your heart,
Attend a while the precepts I impart.
First let your judgment for your fancy chuse,
Of all the nine, the most unblemish’d muse;
Soft yet sublime, in love yet strictly cloy,
Prone to be grave, yet not averse to joy;