Dear fellow-artist， why so free

    With every sort of company，

    With every Jack¹ and Jill？

    Choose your companions from the best；

    Who draws a bucket with the rest

    Soon topples down the hill.

    You may， that mirror for a school，

    Be passionate²， not bountiful

    As common beauties may，

    Who were not born to keep in trim

    With old Ezekiel‘s cherubim

    But those of Beauvarlet.

    I know what wages beauty gives，

    How hard a life her servant lives，

    Yet praise the winters gone：

    There is not a fool can call me friend，

    And I may dine at journey‘s end

    With Landor and with Donne.

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