Classic Poem

Strephon, since my Skill you task
And so oft your Picture ask;
Lest my Colours prove too faint,
Such a various Mind to paint,
I, who ne'er descend to flatter,
And abhor to deal in Satire,
Have at length contriv'd a Way.
Your Resemblance to display.
I have brought Truth's polish'd Mirror,
Which shall show you ev'ry Error;
And, as faithful Glasses do,
Shall reflect your Graces too.
Barren Minds, like barren Soils,
Mock the Cultivator's Toils;
Though he sows the choicest Seeds,
The Produce is Chaff and Weeds;
Thine, with wild luxuriant Growth,
Yields us Corn and Thistles both.
Ev'ry Virtue to it's Side
Has a Neighbour Vice ally'd;
These, tho' sprung from diff'rent Roots,
So immix and blend their Shoots,
That we know not what to call
Products so equivocal.
All who know you, would admire
Your true Courage, Sense, and Fire:
Did not oft the Rude and Rash,
With these nobler Talents clash.
Bounteous Nature fram'd your Mind
Fit for Sense and Taste refin'd:
You her choicest Gifts refuse,
And the meanest Manner chuse;
If from thence you Merit claim,
Ev'ry Shoe-boy has the fame.
How can you to Fame ascend,
If your Course you downward bend;
You, indeed, may hope in Time,
To achieve the low Sublime:
And suppose the Bottom gain'd,
What but Filth could be obtain'd?
If my Freedom here offend you,
Think it kindly meant to mend you.
In your Mind are Seeds of Worth,
Call their latent Virtues forth:
Nor need you far from from Wisdom roam
Your best Examples are at Home.