| |
| WHAT though, for showing truth to flatter’d state, | |
| Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, | |
| In his immortal spirit, been as free | |
| As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. | |
| Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? | 5 |
| Think you he nought but prison walls did see, | |
| Till, so unwilling, thou unturn’dst the key? | |
| Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! | |
| In Spenser’s halls he strayed, and bowers fair, | |
| Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew | 10 |
| With daring Milton through the fields of air: | |
| To regions of his own his genius true | |
| Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair | |
| When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew? | |
| |
| See Notes. |
| |
