Classic Poem

Nor didst thou those mean Spirits more approve,
Who Vertue, only for its Dowry love,
Unbrib'd thou didst her sterling self espouse:
Nor wouldst a better Mistress choose.
Thou couldst Affection to her bare Idaea pay
The first that e'er caress'd her the Platonick way.
To see her in her own Attractions drest
Did all thy Love arrest,
Nor lack'd there new Efforts to storm thy Brest.
Thy generous Loyalty
Would ne'er a Mercenary be,
But chose to serve her still without a Livery.
Yet wast thou not of Recompense debarr'd,
But countedst Honesty its own Reward;
Thou didst not wish a greater Bliss t'accrue,
For to be good to thee was to be happy too,
That secret Triumph of thy mind,
Which always thou in doing well didst find,
Were Heaven enough, were there no other Heaven design'd.