Then thus Anacreon⁠—“I no more At other shrine my vows will pour, Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: From Phoebus or the blue-eyed maid Now shall my verse request no aid, For love alone shall be the patron of my lyre.

“In lofty strain, of earlier days, I spread the king’s or hero’s praise, And struck the martial chords with epic fire: But farewell, hero! farewell, king! Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, For love alone shall be the subject of my lyre.

The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement.