While, Stella, to your lasting praise br The Muse her annual tribute pays, br While I assign myself a task br Which you expect, but scorn to ask; br If I perform this task with pain, br Let me of partial fate complain; br You every year the debt enlarge, br I grow less equal to the charge: br In you each virtue brighter shines, br But my poetic vein declines; br My harp will soon in vain be strung, br And all your virtues left unsung. br For none among the upstart race br Of poets dare assume my place; br Your worth will be to them unknown, br They must have Stellas of their own; br And thus, my stock of wit decay'd, br I dying leave the debt unpaid, br Unless Delany, as my heir, br Will answer for the whole arrear.