Classic Poem

Why sue your pray'rs to her that mocks,
With listless ears; not beaten rocks,
Where waves the wint'ry Neptune throws,
More deaf attend the sailor's woes.
What, unreveng'd, Cotyttian rites,
Which, sacred to luxurious nights,
Do all free intercourse indulge,
Shall you deride and you divulge;
And with my name the city fill,
As priest of our Esquilian STILL ?
What profit, that Pelignian dames
Are richer from my chymic flames;
And that quick poison I contrive,
If thou'rt against my wish alive?
An irksome life thou shalt retain,
For fresh and for perpetual pain.
Still pining at the dainty meats,
For ease false Tantalus intreats;
Prometheus, whom the vultur gnaws,
Wou'd also have his torments pause;
His stone too Sisyphus wou'd prize
Up the high hill; but Jove denies;
To leap from tow'rs on earth beneath,
Or in your breast the sword to sheathe,
Now will you wish, and now will try
The rope about your neck to tye; —
All this thou shalt attempt in vain,
Thro' tedious grief and sour disdain; —
Mean time I'll on your shoulder ride,
'Till earth shall scarce support my pride:
Shall I (as you who pry'd can prove)
Who make the waxen statues move;
The moon can draw from out her course,
By words of sympathetic force;
Can raise burnt bodies out of Styx,
And in the cup love-potions mix;
Shall I my fruitless art bemoan,
Without effect on Thee alone?