TO MR. PARKHOUSE, Of TIVERTON, DEVON

Accept, dear Parent! from a filial pen, The humble off'ring of my pensive Muse: She painted on my mind a Daughter's woes, Nor could my heart the tender theme refuse.

The rightful Patron of th'eventful tale, To you I dedicate the scenes she drew; My soul she search'd to find OSMIDA's thoughts, And colour'd her from what I feel for you.

Yours then the meed—if meed kind Fame will grant, The tale to you—to you the bayes belong; You gave my youthful fancy wings to soar; From your indulgence flows my wild-note song.

Its music in your ear will sweetly sound; Its page, with fond delight, you'll traverse o'er: With half your pleasure may the world peruse! My muse, my vanity can ask no more.

Dear other Parent! guiltless hold my heart, Though unadorn'd my numbers with your name; Your worth, your goodness, in its centre lives, And there shall perish only with my frame.