On Receiving Some Complimentary Verses from a Lady

Alethea, with my muse I send,
Happy to have so fair a friend,
And since you say, you like my rhime,
I'm glad, the day will give me time,
To jingle out my numbers rude,
From duty and from gratitude.
Happy, my B—t—ll, here, to tell,
I like my correspondence well,
Thy taste for Clio, and for letters,
Will set thee far above thy betters,
Or those, the world our betters call,
Whose fortune is their boasted all,
Whose fortunes do at once controul
The dearest passions of the soul;
But those who've nothing else to boast,
Are lucky blockheads at the most;
For ever to their wealth a slave,
And creep unheeded to the grave;
No friend behind they leave to tell,
They ever thought or acted well,
Or that they one good day enjoy'd,
In manly sentiment employ'd.
Are we not then far richer, say,
Who seldom pass a single day,
Without a social friendly hour,
When sprightly fancy oft will tow'r
Above the reach of vulgar bliss,
And reason into happiness,
Employ that reason we have given,
From fertile nature, and from heav'n.
Then let us, B—t—ll, spend our time,
In easy converse, and in rhime,
True friendship never can be sold,
It stronger grows, as it grows old.