In Phœbus Wit (as Ovid said) br Enchanting Beauty woo'd; br In Daphne Beauty coily fled, br While vainly Wit pursu'd. br But when you trace what Ovid writ, br A diff'rent Turn we view; br Beauty no longer flies from Wit, br Since both are joyn'd in You. br Your Lines the wondrous Change impart, br From whence our Lawrels spring; br In Numbers fram'd to please the Heart, br And merit what they Sing. br Methinks thy Poet's gentle Shade br Its Wreath presents to Thee; br What Daphne owes you as a Maid, br She pays you as a Tree.