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Lettered inside image: "46 | Or if we wish a fourth, it is a friend-- | But friends how mortal! dangerous the desire. | Take Phoebus to yourselves, ye basking bards! | Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head; | And reeling through the wilderness of joy; | *Where sense runs savage broke from reason's chain, | And sings false peace, till smother'd by the pall. | My fortune is unlike; unlike my song; | Unlike the DEITY my song invokes. | I to day's soft-eyed sister pay my court, | Endymion's rival! and her aid implore; | Now first implored in succour to the muse. | Thou who didst lately borrow Cynthia's form, | And modestly forego thine own! O thou | Who didst thyself, at midnight hours, inspire! | Say, why not Cynthia patroness of song? | As thou her crescent, she thy character | Assumes; still more a goddess by the change. | Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute | This revolution in the world inspired? | Ye train pierian! to the lunar sphere, | In silent hour address your ardent call | For aid immortal--less her brother's right. | She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads | The mazy dance, and hears their matchless strain; | A strain for gods, denied to mortal ear. | Transmit it heard, thou silver queen of heaven! | What title or what name endears thee most? | Cynthia! Cyllene! Phoebe!--or dost hear | With higher gust fair P--d of the skies?"; lower right: "inv & s | WB"; lower left: "London, Pubd. Jan: 1. 1797. by R. Edwards, 142 New Bond Stt."