Classic Poem

Thou who but lately from thy critic's stool
Us luckless sonneteers didst so torment;
Thou who with poisonous gall hast so besprent
And doomed us to the lowest Stygian pool;
Thou cleanly ermine of the olden school,
How hast thou soiled thy white integument!
For now thyself hast to thy lady sent
A creaking sonnet, rough beyond all rule!
Thy late fierce scoldings hast thou quite forgot?
Forgot what, half in jest and half in passion,
The critic Voss enjoined, that veteran elf?
Thou'rt like the righteous pedagogue, I wot,
Who, whilst he child the lad in wrathful fashion
For stealing cherries, munched them up himself!