Classic Poem

Cease fair mechanic! nor employ
Vain labour on this paper toy;
Beneath whose wavy wings you mean,
Hid from the croud, to shine unseen.
Those sparkling eyes were never made,
To be invelop'd thus in shade.
Besides too weak th' umbrello'd veil,
Expos'd to each intruding gale:
Kind Zephyrs oft' will round you play,
And fan the paper-screen away.

Y ET 'twas ingenious to contrive,
This little emblem of a hive;
Which oft' is plotted thus together,
To screen the bees from wind and weather:
But ne'er a hive with all its store,
Such sweetness e'er inclos'd before:
Nor bee that ever labour'd there,
Can with your industry compare.
With artful maze, and texture fine,
The braided shreds, promiscuous twine;
In wild, perplext meanders led,
Thro' many a labyrinth of thread.

O! FAIR projector! since your skill,
Can such a paper circle fill,
The wond'ring Muse shall weave these lays
On the same paper to your praise.
With this you may some other time,
Contrive a paper-hat in rhime:
Crown'd on your brow — the Muse thus worn,
Shall view a diadem with scorn.

I NDUSTRIOUS nymph! in you we find
Oeconomy, and sweetness join'd;
Good humour, and good sense ally'd,
Unstain'd with vanity, or pride:
The distaff in Minerva 's arms,
Still adds fresh lustre to her charms.
Coquets like butterflys may smile,
In painted circles for a while;
'Tis but a false, delusive glare,
But merit still adorns the fair.