Classic Poem

If to the Country I my Friend invite,
'Tis but to do languishing Friendship right:
What to a Friend can be a greater Wrong,
Than that the Second's absent over-long?
Now, tho' our Cottage be but mean for thee,
Make it more pleasant by thy Company:
For tho' we think we have an Interest,
Firmly secured in each others Breast;
Yet if it cease to circulate and flow,
'Twill sooner stagnate, than increase and grow.
Ne'er let it be like that adored Gold,
Possess'd by wretched Misers, (that of old
Conceal'd and hid it) useless, lest we seem
Quite to reject, and lose that just Esteem,
Due to the Root, from which true Friendship springs;
Which to the Heart, Immortal Solace brings.
Indeed in high-flown Panegyrick Verse,
My Pen is not accustom'd to rehearse
Praises incredible, nor to Commend,
In deep Hyperboles, a worthy Friend;
Yet she that treasures Vertue in her Breast,
Shines in those Robes, wherewith it doth invest
The truly Noble Soul, whereby each Eye
Something of Innate Lustre may espy.
Then may such well assert, like Sheba 's Queen,
When she great Judah 's King and Court had seen,
One half had not been told ; So may it be
Affirm'd by many that have heard of thee:
Why then should this mean Pen pretend to tell
Half of those Vertues that in thee excel?