Classic Poem

Ladies, 'twill give but very little pain t'ye,
When such a tiny thing, as I, complain t'ye.
Were I grown big , and bold enough, to charm ye,
I'd do't — but, for the world , I wou'dn't harm ye.

Alas! — we've lost our stage ; — whereon to strut,
Was the unlicenc'd claim of L ILLIPUT .
Yet, here , where never patent monarch reign'd!
We see our ground, by strange usurpers , gain'd!
On our own soil condemn'd to over laying ,
By these dramatic rats , in mouse-hole playing ;
Ah! do us right — Since like with like engages,
Give little actors way, on little stages .

One poor pretence they urge — but strain'd their wit for't,
That we'er too young , for business , and unfit for't.
Lord! how some folks WILL LIE ! — from truth, he flinches,
Who measures our ability , by inches .
You know — 'tis young and lively — old and crazy —
Then, short , and sweet's the word — but — long , and lazy .
All things, that please , are SHORT — no — short caressings ,
I fear, you'd, all, give up ; — and chuse — long, blessings .
Well! — such be yours , if after they've done playing ,
You come, and make our troop amends , for staying .