In Imitation Of Anacreon.

IN IMITATION OF ANACREON.

Let 'em Censure: what care I? The Herd of Criticks I defie. Let the Wretches know, I write Regardless of their Grace, or Spight. No, no: the Fair, the Gay, the Young Govern the Numbers of my Song. All that They approve is sweet: And All is Sense, that They repeat.

Bid the warbling Nine retire: Venus, String thy Servant's Lyre: Love shall be my endless Theme: Pleasure shall triumph over Fame: And when these Maxims I decline, Apollo, may Thy Fate be Mine: May I grasp at empty Praise; And lose the Nymph, to gain the Bays.