| Dear fellow-artist, why so free |
| With every sort of company, |
| With every Jack and Jill? |
| Choose your companions
from the best; |
| Who draws a bucket with the rest |
| Soon topples down the hill. |
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| You may, that mirror for
a school, |
| Be passionate, not bountiful |
| As common beauties may, |
| Who were not born to keep in trim |
| With old Ezekiel’s cherubim |
| But those of Beauvarlet. |
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| 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. |