And 'tis better, a premium though they require,
To be scorch'd in the Sun, than burnt out in the fire.
ODE TO SIGNOR RUBINI.
Great vocalist! that tak'st, with wondrous ease,
A rapid passage on the highest C's;
Thy compass beats the mariner's quite hollow,
For where it leads none but thyself can follow;
And then the wind, at will, 'tis thou canst raise,
By gentle airs, for which the public pays;
Thy skill e'en that of Orpheus far surpasses,