THAT privilege which others claim, To flatter with their friends, With thee, friend, shall not be mine aim; My verse so much pretends. The general umpire of best wit In this will speak thy fame. The Muses' minions, as they sit, Will still confirm the same: Let me sing him that merits best; Let others scrape for fashion; Their buzzing prate thy worth will jest, And slight such commendation.
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