Our Poet tells me I am very pretty, Have Youth and Innocence to move your pity: A few Years hence perhaps you may be kind, The Tallest Trees bend to the rustling Wind; Then spare me for the good which I may do, Early bespeak me, either Friend or Foe: Nor think those Youthful Joys I have in store, Far distant Promises, unripen'd Oar, Meer Fairy Treasure, which you can't Explore: The @3Play-House@1 is a Hot-Bed to young Plants, Early supplies your Longings and your Wants. Then let your Sun-shine send such lively Heat, May stamp our Poet's work, and Nature's too Compleat. |