Classic Poem

Damon forbear, and don't disturb your Muse,
You can't correct the coxcombs you accuse,
Some partial judges of their harmless rage
Out of bravado rashly do engage,
But many pens, like Wortley Montague
Take an affront, and yet beg pardon too.
Others I know, who in their amorous fit,
Blaspheme Parnassus in their bawdy wit.
This aims at satire, and in horrid rhymes
Himself exposes, not the vicious times:
He shows his malice, but he cannot bite;
Others strain hard for ev'ry line they write,
And after all the throes they've had, 't'as been
Like a Dutch woman's birth, a souterkin.
Could ev'ry man, my Damon, be so wise
Only to meddle where his talent lies,
Some would not write at all, and many less,
Then we might bear the groaning of the press.
To different Muses, different themes belong:
To Congreve lofty verse, to Durfy song.
Let sharp Architectus lampoon the punk,
The bawd, the quiddler, buggerer, and the drunk.
Let Gallus and Catullus court the fair
But Caesar's actions, must be Pindar's care.
Grave Nestor must support the tottering state,
And in the council cautiously debate.
Let Lucan soar beyond the common reach,
Let florid Cicero preach, and Zeno teach.
In the black crowd of the litigious hall
Let Holt decide, let Sloan and others bawl.
Let critic Dennis from the Frenchman steal,
Let fools be beaux, whilst wisemen are genteel.
Let Ratcliffe cure the fever, Wall the pox,
Germain and Boucher manage the false box,
Let this one turn a jilt, and that a whore,
And Duncombe lavish his ill-gotten store.
Let Cutts be proud of seven and twenty scars,
All got alas! in the Low Country wars,
Let empty Settle not to the bays pretend,
Let Morton rake, and Warwick stab his friend.
While worthless Dutchmen get all England's riches
Let Boxe's wife, and hundreds more, turn bitches.
There be grandees, whom 'tis not fit to name
That make it glory to record their shame.
Others transported with the scandal grow,
And wed those whores that were proved so.
Portmore and Orkney cupid's fort invade,
And marry what their sovereign princes made.
Let Ranelagh with paint renew her charms,
And Jeffreys wanton it in Windsor's arms.
May Williams in the horse dung find perfumes,
And hug her coachman in her velvet rooms.
Let some fair nymphs be virtuous out of spite,
Let Thraso brag, but let Achilles fight.
Let Garrat at a bottle spend the day,
Let Swan pun on, and Sir George Humble pay.
Let Knipe flog boys, and let Tom Browne translate,
And each be easy in his various fate.
Though men of merit may at theirs repine,
They won't act basely for an Indian mine.
Many by avarice, pride, or lust are hurled,
But who commands himself, commands the world.
Lastly, my Muse, this is not our concern,
For whilst you others teach, yourself should learn.
Damon and I alternative will prove
That friendship by the noblest paths does move,
We swains alone are friends, we only love.
By purling rivers, or some grateful shade
We sing the charming and the yielding maid.
Ingenious pens immortalize the brave,
Yet rural Muses too their beauties have.
For Virgil's Tityrus has as many charms
As when he raised his voice to sing of arms.
But my own censures do myself condemn,
In making others' characters my theme.
Then that my crime I may no more pursue,
May you see Cloris smile, and so adieu.
Let our Augustus rule the world in peace,
And may his glory with his hours increase.