The Author consoles a Friend whose Inclinations were oppos'd by the Parent of a young Lady, to whom he paid his Addresses.

Courage, my Boy, the present Day,
I grant you has no genial Ray!
But tell me — is it therefore meet?
Must we still lack a Sun-shine Treat?
Perhaps the Morrow may supply,
Elate your Heart, and glad the Eye —
Be chearful, Man — avaunt Despair,
Since you can trust the partial Fair ;
Assure yourself that Time will work,
And proper Conduct sooth a Turk ;
With Patience wait — this friendly Balm
The Muse foretells — " All will be calm. "