To Eliza Plucking Laurel in Mr Pope's Gardens
As learn'd Eliza , sister of the Muse,
Surveys with new contemplative delight
Pope 's hallow'd glades, and never tiring views,
Her conscious hand his laurel leaves invite.
Cease, lovely thief! my tender limbs to wound,
(Cry'd Daphne whisp'ring from the yielding tree;)
Were Pope once void of wonted candour found,
Just Phaebus would devote his plant to thee.
Surveys with new contemplative delight
Pope 's hallow'd glades, and never tiring views,
Her conscious hand his laurel leaves invite.
Cease, lovely thief! my tender limbs to wound,
(Cry'd Daphne whisp'ring from the yielding tree;)
Were Pope once void of wonted candour found,
Just Phaebus would devote his plant to thee.
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