Classic Poem

Such just Analogy's in ev'ry Part,
So natural, yet so far excelling Art;
So sweet your Numbers, in so soft a Strain,
The Sense so masculine, and yet so plain!
If on an humble Theme so fine's your Thought,
How on a better Topick had you wrote?
You who so candidly can Faults excuse,
How would you sing a Subject worth your Muse?

On worthless me then lavish not your Praise;
But sing Æmilia in immertal Lays:
Æmilia, who in Midst on Wrongs is seen
Contentedly resign'd and charmingly serene.
Thus sing the great Æmilia's greater Fame,
And Hills and Vales shall eccho to her Name;
While wond'ring Nymphs, and Shepherds round Thee throng,
And learn thy Tuneful elevated Song.