Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/82

Had W——— never aim'd in Verse to please,
We had not rank'd him with our Ogilbys.
Still Censures will on dull Pretenders fall,
A Codrus shou'd expect a Juvenal,
Ill Lines, but like ill Paintings, are allow'd,
To set off, and to recommend the good.
So Diamonds take a Lustre from their Foyle;
And to a B———ly 'tis, we owe a B———le.

⁠Consider well the Talent you possess,
To strive to make it more would make it less;
And recollect what Gratitude is due,
To those whose Party you abandon now.
To them you owe your odd Magnificence
But to your Stars your Magazine of Sense.
Haspt in a Tombril, aukward have you shin'd
With one fat Slave before, and none behind.
Then haste and join your true intrepid Friends,
Success on Vigour and Dispatch depends.

⁠Lab'ring in Doubts Mirmillo stood, then said,
'Tis hard to undertake, if Gain disswade;
What Fool for noysie Feuds large Fees wou'd leave?
Ten Harvests more wou'd all I wish for give.

⁠True Man, reply'd the Elf; by Choice diseas'd,
Ever contriving Pain, and never pleas'd.
A present Good they slight, an absent chuse,
And what they have, for what they have not, lose.
False Prospects all their true Delights destroy,
Resolv'd to want, yet lab'ring to enjoy.

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