Dear fellow-artist， why so free
With every sort of company，
With every Jack and Jill？
Choose your companions from the best；
Who draws a bucket with the rest
Soon topples down the hill.
You may， that mirror for a school，
Be passionate， not bountiful
As common beauties may，
Who were not born to keep in trim
With old Ezekiel‘s cherubim
But those of Beauvarlet.
I know what wages beauty gives，
How hard a life her servant lives，
Yet praise the winters gone：
There is not a fool can call me friend，
And I may dine at journey‘s end
With Landor and with Donne.