But then, as myriads confuse,
And each the other’s sweets annoy,
Wilt thou condemn the friendly muse
Who aids thee in the great employ?
Who bids thee now neglect the rose,
Which long has claim’d the moral lay,
For the bright amaranth, that glows
In regal purple ever gay—
Bright boasted flow’r, of boasted plains!
Whilst myriads around thee fade,