Still where thy small and cheerful converse flows,
Be mine to enter, ere the circle close."
When in retreat Fox lays his thunder by,
And Wit and Taste their mingled charms supply;
When SIDDONS, born to melt and freeze the heart,
Performs at home her more endearing part;
When He,1 who best interprets to mankind
The winged messengers from mind to mind,
Leans on his spade, and, playful as profound,
His genius sheds its evening sunshine round,
Be mine to listen; pleased yet not elate,
Ever too modest or too proud to rate
Myself by my companions.