In Every Work Regard The Writer's End,

Most Authors Steal Their Works, Or Buy.

Oft, As In Airy Rings They Skim The Heath, The Clamtrous Lapwings Feel The Leaden Death; Oft, As The Mounting Larks Their Notes Prepare They Fall, And Leave Their Little Lives In Air.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

In A Sadly Pleasing Strain, Let The Warbling Lute Complain.