To one that perswades me to leave the Muses. FOrgo the charming Muses! No, in spight Of your ill-natur'd Prophecy I'll write, And for the future paint my thoughts at large, I waste no paper at the Hunderds charge: I rob no Neighbouring Geese of Quills, nor slink For a collection to the Church for ink: Besides my Muse is the most gentle thing That ever yet made an attempt to sing: I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops, Nor set the married world an edge for Ropes; Yet I'm so seurvily inclin'd to Rhiming, That undesign'd my thoughts burst out a chiming; My active Genius will by no means sleep, And let it then its proper channel keep. I've told you, and you may believe me too, That I must this, or greater mischiefe do; And let the world think me inspir'd, or mad, I'le surely write whilst paper's to be had; Since Heaven to me has a Retreat assign'd, That would inspire a less harmonious mind. All that a Poet loves I have in view, Delight some Hills, refreshing Shades, and pleasant Valleys too, Fair spreading Valleys cloath'd with lasting green, And Sunny Banks with gilded streams between, Gay as Elisium, in a Lovers Dream, Or Flora's Mansion, seated by a stream, Where free from sullen cares I live at case, Indulge my Muse, and wishes, as I please, Exempt from all that looks like want or strife, I smoothly glide along the Plains of Life, Thus Fate conspires, and what can I do to 't? Besides, I'm veh'mently in love to boot, And that there's not a Willow Sprig but knows, In whose sad shade I breathe my direful woes. But why for these dull Reasons do I pause, When I've at hand my genuine one, because! And that my Muse may take no counter Spell, I fairly bid the Boarding Schools farewel: No Young Impertinent, shall here intrude, And vex me from this blisful solitude. Spite of her heart, Old Puss shall damn no more Great Sedley's Plays, and never look 'em o're; Affront my Navels, no, nor in a Rage, Force Drydens lofty Products from the Stage, Whilst all the rest of the melodious crew, With the whole System of Athenians too, For Study's sake out of the Window flew. But I'to Church, shall fill her Train no more, And walk as if I sojurn'd by the hour. To Stepwel and his Kit I bid adieu, Fall off, and on, be hang'd and Coopee too Thy self for me, my dancing days are o're; I'le act th'inspired Bachannels no more. Eight Notes must for another Treble look, In Burlesque to make Faces by the book. Iapan, and my esteemed Pencil too, And pretty Cupid, in the Glass adieu, And since the dearest friends that be must part, Old Governess farewell with all my heart. Now welcome all ye peaceful Shades and Springs, And welcome all the inspiring tender things; That please my genius, suit my make and years, Unburden'd yet with all but lovers cares.