O think not I would purchase, measuring out,
The priceless merit of the love I’ve sued!
Thy love’s the larger, that it will not doubt
To rest its hope on buds whose beauty’s crude:
Yet suffer, that my shafts attempt the mark
Which thy heart shows to be true virtue’s goal;
Suffer, that, by thy conduct, my poor bark
May proudly sail, and scorn the obtrusive shoal:
My service slights all guerdons, and all gains,
Than but one smile, one word, one thought of thine;
Happy, whoe’er approves not, if my pains
Be crown’d by thee, and through thy merit shine.
What others’ emulous worth labours to gain,
O glorious prize! ’tis mine, perchance, to attain.