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Thanks to the friend whose happy lines coud cheer In Derry's oaten soil frozen air When to the Citty late I bid farewell Beneath my firm resolves my scribling fell The Ghost of my departed Muse you raise tune her tongue to long forgotten layes Thus a poor girl by passion overrun Tires with the folly forsakes the town But if her shades present a powrfull swain She feels ye woman stirr loves again Your thoughts are Just your words fall in wth ease Who woud not be abused in lines like these Mindless of all the ill they say of me I read them admire their poetry So when a Charming beauty strikes ye heart We slight the wound to gaze upon ye dart But oh My friend of writing much beware If once you're charmd youre fixd for ever there Fame all abroad loose desires with in Intice a giddy creature to the pen A Cælia soon he getts to whom to write the brisk bottle must compleat ye witt Then every minute of succeeding time Invents a frolick or creates a whim Which his leud absent friend must hear in rime You'll think ( others have been thus undone) Your reason can the growing passion shun But did you know its strength youd doubt your own Your best endeavours on ye law bestow Rough as it is 'tis proffitable too Cowel Blunt have words Cook ye way to keep the wrangling sons of earth in play then if your books you use your Clients pay Stay Muse in paths you never trod you rove My lean advice does my presumption prove But Can it shew my fault & not my love Kindly accept what I in kindness send think me as I think my self your friend.