To Mr. Isaac Walton, on His Publication of Thealma

Long had the bright Thealma lain obscure,
Her beauteous charms that might the world allure,
Lay like rough diamonds, in the mine, unknown,
By all the sons of folly trampled on,
Till your kind hand unveil'd her lovely face,
And gave her vigour to exert her rays:
Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows,
Except thyself, who charitably shows
The ready road to Virtue and to Praise,
The way to many long and happy days;
The noble art of generous Piety,
And how to compass an Euthanasy!
Hence did he learn the skill of living well,
The bright Thealma was his oracle;
Inspir'd by Her, he knows no anxious cares
In near a century of happy years;
Easy he lives, and easy shall he lie
On the soft bosom of Eternity.
As long as Spenser's noble flames shall burn,
And deep devotion shall attend his urn;
As long as Chalkhill's venerable name
With humble emulation shall enflame
Posterity, and fill the rolls of fame,
Your memory shall ever be secure,
And long beyond our short-liv'd praise endure;
As Phidias in Minerva's shield did live,
And shar'd that immortality he alone could give.