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Epistle by Mr W-- on seeing Lady Augusta Murray attend divine service.-- Scoff not, sweet nymph, at lays thy musick claim Nor spurn a muse, not quite unknown to fame Who tho' not [[unclear]] in courts, or camps can see Transcendent locations, such as dwell with thee: For full's the visual orb, which ne'er discourse How bright, o'er twinkling tapers, Phoebus burns. No views of int'rest prompt the sordid lay No treach'rous passion haunts so sweet a prey No specious flatt'ry aims insidious lure To catch a form so fair a heart so pure. Nor proud ambition stalks its way to tame Seduc'd by visions hov'ring round a name. a simple swain presumes to touch the lyre as obvious virtues, artless charms, inspire; Yet scorns to discount one strain before the shrine Of brightest forms alone. nay [[unclear]] ever thine,
