But more difficult ’tis to scan, That dire, deceitful creature man; Of all the work in Nature’s plan, Sure none can be So intricate to understan’, As mystic he. His breast is fill’d with mazy wiles; His count’nance stor’d with fickle smiles: His flatt’ring speech too oft beguiles Pure innocence; And when he writes, his lofty style’s Replete with sense. Such eloquence does merit praise; Deep erudition swells your lays: You seem the laureate of our days; And all the nine, Your mighty character to raise, Do now combine. ’Tis pity, sir, that such as you Should agriculture’s paths pursue, Or destin’d be to hold the plough On the cold plain; More fit that laurels deck’d the brow Of such a swain. Yet Homer’s parts few did commend, Till death his doleful days did end; Then seven cities did contend A right to claim; Each vow’d from thence he did descend, So great his fame. Perhaps, sir, in some future age, Struck with the beauties of your page, Old Scotia’s chieftains may engage Your name to raise; More have they to excite their rage, Than Homer’s lays. But I must drop the pond’rous theme, Lest you my weak attempts should blame; So sure your title is to fame, Who runs may read; Of such your merit to proclaim You have no need. Know then, that love within my breast, Has never yet been known to rest; Nor would I harbour such a guest, To give me pain: I wish you, sir, so much distress’d, Soon well again. FROM _FLAVIA TO CARLOS_. Dear sir, accept this missive sent From one whose mind’s sincerely bent, On ever acting so with you, As shall evince her friendship true. But how shall Carlos really know, That friendship in her breast doth glow? A friend is more than empty name: Few justly can the title claim. Were Flavia born in station high, Her friendship soon you would descry: Her op’lence quickly would reveal, What pen’ry bids her now conceal. Then Carlos would her favour boast, Nor be so much by fortune cross’d. Thus Flavia talks of her esteem, As heroes conquer in a dream; Or as a culprit, doom’d to die, In dungeon where he’s forc’d to lie, Might boast of what he could effect, Were kings attentive to his beck.