YE watchful Guardians of the fair,
Who skiff on wings of ambient Air,
Of my dear Delia take a care,
And represent her Lover,
With all the gaiety of youth,
With honour, justice, love and truth;
‘Till I return, her passions sooth,
For me, in whispers move her.
Be careful no base sordid slave,
With soul sunk in a golden grave,
Who knows no virtue but to save,
With glaring gold bewitch her.
Tell her, for me she was design’d,
For me, who know how to be kind,
And have mair plenty in my mind,
Than one who’s ten times richer.
Let all the world turn upside down,
And fools run an eternal round,
In quest of what can ne’er be found,
To please their vain ambition.
Let little minds great charms espy,
In Shadows which at distance ly,
Whose hop’d for pleasures, when come night,
Prove nothing in fruition.
But cast into a mold divine,
Fair Delia does with lustre shine,
Her virtuous soul’s an ample mine,
Which yields a constant treasure.
Let Poets, in sublimest lays,
Employ their skill her fame to raise;
Let sons of musick pass whole days,
With well-tun’d reeds to please her.