Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command; Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee, And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling Of him thou regardest her favouring ray, Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling, Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way.
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