Classic Poem

 But, Reader, to pursue my tale,
I must draw off Illusion's veil,
And freely own the boasted Nine ,
Tho' by most writers deem'd divine ,
Are tinctur'd, spite of all we're told,
And strongly too, with mortal mould.
Deserting that exalted line,
Where they are destin'd most to shine,
Too often they'll foment a squabble,
In politics too often dabble;
Like wantons, lure, by winning ways,
Th' incautious youth who stop to gaze;
Seduce them up P ARNASSUS ' steep,
Where scarce the strong firm footing keep,
And weaker followers slide and drop,
Ere they have half attain'd its top.——
These Dames too, of celestial birth,
As the vain beauties of the earth,
Proud of their charms, their power, their station,
Live like coquets on admiration:
And if they once indulgence show
To any votary below,
Who hath their magic arts admir'd,
And half believ'd himself inspir'd;
Should he perchance, in evil hour,
Become neglectful of their power,
Or if some rival charm should start,
To fascinate his yielding heart;
Then in their heavenly breasts is seen
The full effects of mortal spleen;
P ARNASSUS straight is in a blaze,
The Muses run nine different ways,
All is cabal, complaint, and chatter,
None but themselves know what's the matter.
Each female passion now afloat,
By jealousy they're veer'd about,
No arrogance of earthly beauty
Could more resent a breach of duty;
By conquest proud, they can't sustain
The loss of one who swell'd their train;
Each stratagem is put in motion,
To bring him back to their devotion.

 Our Culprit, who no ill intended,
Had thus their Highnesses offended;
Their backs were up, their pride was nettled,
Their spirit rouz'd, their hopes unsettled.