Classic Poem

Now patience guard the luckless wretch,
Compell'd his thoughts and legs to stretch,
And round each crack and covert wind,
To look for what he cannot find!
Whether it be a great estate,
Which ne'er was destin'd him by Fate;
Or what he less might choose to mention,
A good snug place, or snugger pension;
Or for some debtor should he search,
Who basely left him in the lurch,
Or one, that rogue-like shirk'd his bail,
Who kindly sav'd him from a jail.
This was in truth the M USES' case:
O'er all A POLLO'S haunts they pace;
Nor up, nor round the sacred Mount,
Nor even at th' inspiring fount,
His vagrant Worship could be met,
This put our Ladies in a fret.
And, Reader, should I here explain
Why all their searches prov'd in vain,
Why this great laurell'd prince of rhyme
Was out of place, and out of time,
I can't unravel well the clue,
Or bring this matter fair to view,
Unless we both together pause,
And enter deeper in the cause.
You'll have no scruple to confess
An author's licence to digress;
To travel on, without e'er stopping,
Or finding where to bait, or pop in,
Both man and horse must quickly tire,
And Poets feel relax'd their fire;
Digression, therefore, pleads this merit,
We lose less leather, gain more spirit:
It acts just like a pioneer,
To make rough smooth, th' entangled clear,
And, as you journey on your ways
Serves as a road-map in your chaise;
You better comprehend what's doing,
And mark the very line you're going.