Thy steady Pen what matchless Genius guides,

What taste, what elegance o’er all presides,

Nor these alone; to choose, compare, deject,

Skill to distinguish, Judgment to Select,

The Muses see with Joy such pow’rs combine,

And smile with transport on a task like thine.

So flies th’industrious Bee from flow’r to flow’r,

So roves unsated thro’ the noontide hour,

Now fixes here, now seeks for something new,

And sips from ev’ry plant Ambrosial dew,

Extracts the honied store from all the she meets,

And heaps her hoarded hive with liquid Sweets.