Classic Poem

TWO nymphs, both nearly of an age,
Of num'rous charms possess'd,
A warm dispute once chanc'd to wage,
Whose temper was the best.

The worth of each had been complete,
Had both alike been mild;
But one, although her smile was sweet,
Frown'd oft'ner than she smil'd,

And in her humour, when she frown'd,
Would raise her voice, and roar;
And shake with fury, to the ground,
The garland that she wore.

The other was of gentler cast,
From all such frenzy clear;
Her frowns were seldom known to last,
And never prov'd severe.

To poets of renown in song,
The nymphs referr'd the cause,
Who, strange to tell, all judg'd it wrong,
And gave misplac'd applause.

They gentle call'd, and kind, and soft,
The flippant, and the scold;
And though she chang'd her mood so oft,
That failing left untold.

No judges, sure, were e'er so mad,
Or so resolv'd to err;
In short, the charms her sister had
They lavish'd all on her.

Then thus the God, whom fondly they
Their great inspirer call,
Was heard, one genial summer's day,
To reprimand them all.

Since thus ye have combin'd, he said,
My favourite nymph to slight,
Adorning May, that peevish maid!
With June's undoubted right;

The minx shall, for your folly's sake,
Still prove herself a shrew;
Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,
And pinch your noses blue.