Classic Poem

The Queen of Love was lately seen,
In all her State, on Bethnal Green — —
The little Cupids , waiting round,
Pitch'd her Pavilion on the Ground.

The News that Ida 's Queen was near
Reach'd each contending Beauty's Ear:
From all the Hamlets round they pour,
St. James 's could not furnish more.

Where Anna 's Zeal, and George 's Care,
Bid a new Church her Honours rear,
Thence Celia came, the fair and young,
Attended by a num'rous Throng.

A while the Goddess view'd the Croud — —
Each was importunate and loud;
Celia alone no Forces tries,
But those which Nature gave her Eyes.

The Queen, unable to decide,
Cries, Be your sep'rate Merits try'd — —
In comely Order strait they move;
Each led by some officious Love.

At last, array'd in ev'ry Grace,
With careless Air, and easy Pace,
The envy'd, honour'd Celia came,
While smiling Cupids own'd the Dame.

Confounded, Venus left her Throne — —
Fair Mortal, take, said she, your own.
By Heav'n your Sov'reignty's confest,
Do you decide among the rest,