To a Lady, Who Desired Some Specimens of the Author’s Poetry

Let not Eliza bid me now rehearse The unvalued rhymes that long forgotten lie: For all unfit is my rude-fashioned Verse To meet the censure of her curious eye:

But for her sake a subject could I choose To draw down fame and envy on the Bard, Thy lovely Self should be my theme and Muse, And thy sweet smile, Eliza, my reward.