To a young Lady, who had made an Epigram on Time, but refus'd to give a Copy

Why will Ardelia still refuse
What she may grant with Pride,
Why study to suppress her Muse,
Why still her Numbers hide?

No more conceal that sparkling Vein,
Let your bright Treasure run;
Like current Gold your Sterling Strain
Should circle with the Sun.

In vain you mask in Housewife Airs,
In vain disguise your Wit;
Through ev'ry Look your Sense appears,
Thro' ev'ry Smile the Cheat.

Prithee no longer thus affect
Your Talents to conceal:
Let Wit its own bright Beam detect,
And throw aside the Veil.

Nor need you fear your Friends should blame,
They know your Worth too long;
That you on Sense build solid Fame,
Not on a trifling Song.

A furnish'd House your Mind appears,
Where Firmness claims a Place;
Yet Ornament the Fancy chears,
And Pictures give a Grace.

Your Subject, Time, will never stay
Then use it to kind Ends;
Nor think your Moments thrown away,
When you instruct your Friends.