Classic Poem

Jove once was young, as Poets hold —
Then consequently Jove grows old;
And Wisdom, as by Man appears,
Increases with a Person's Years;
Then Jove must now be wise indeed!
That Point admitted, we proceed.

Grown old and wise; in nuptial Love,
Some Ages Jove had spent above:
Buils, Swans, and Show'rs, ungrateful Names!
No more promote his lawless Flames:
No Change the Deity desir'd,
Nor much of Men's Affairs enquir'd;
Or ask'd 'em with no other Views
Than mod'rate Mortals read the News:
Just to reflect on Peoples Actions,
Without engaging in their Factions.

One Morn however (Note, 'tis said,
'Twas Cupid put it in his Head.)
Restless, he rose before Day-peep,
And left poor Juno fast asleep:
Walk'd round Olympus three Times thrice,
Shook his illustrious Tresses twice,
Sate down alone, seem'd inly griev'd,
And this Soliloquy conceiv'd.

Am I not Sire of Gods and Men?
Whence flows this dull Indiff'rence then?
Do Mortals less deserve my Care
Than when I gave them Peace and War?
Than when around the Walls of Troy
Achilles drove her only Joy;
While I held forth my Scales, to weigh
Th' Event of that important Day?

So having thought, he pull'd, and rung — —
Swifter than Light'ning Hermes sprung.

Hermes , quoth he, be thine the Trust,
(But drink this Glass of Nectar first)
The Trust to ease thy Father's Mind,
Again to Politics inclin'd — —
Methinks I'd more exactly know
The State of yonder World below.
'Tis far — — — Intelligence is small — — —
Once I was wont to influence all!
But I've been long disus'd to bear
The Noise, Fatigue, and Hurry there.
Books may inform me here at large — — —
At London-Hermes , mind the Charge!
Go find a proper Shop, where I
To-morrow may descend and buy — —
From Tonson's search to Messieurs Knapton 's,
Who best can furnish me with apt ones.

Whether like Lawyer, Beau, or Priest,
Officious Mercury was drest;
How long he stay'd, how far he travel'd,
Might elegantly be unravel'd.
But having nothing to infer on't,
Suffice it — — he perform'd his Errand:
Came home to Jupiter at Even;
And thus addrest the Sire of Heaven.

Whatever you enjoin'd your Son,
Believe me, Thunderer, 'tis done — — —
See here a Catalogue of Books!
( Jove takes it in his Hand, and looks.)
Near that known Place (the Title view)
Where Mortals act the most like you,
Fam'd both for Punishments and Sins,
To-morrow Morn the Sale begins.
To-morrow, Sir, observe the Nature!
The sooner you are there the better.

Yet might a faithful Son advise,
On Hermes ' Word, would Jove be wise,
In quest of Books Jove would not roam,
But more securely rest at heme,
And leave the whole to my discharging — —
'Tis but to mark upon the Margin.

Jove , thou hast often been outwitted —
To Leda 's Beauty who submitted?
Who stay'd three Days and Nights abroad,
While Juno wept her absent God?
Alas, 'tis easy to be true,
Pent up from ev'ry Mortal's View!
Our Faces here are still the same — —
One Queen of Love, one martial Dame!
Should'st thou descend where I have been,
Should'st thou behold what I have seen,
Thy Age, thy Wisdom were in vain:
Jove would relapse, and Celia reign!
Her Charms as much the Sex improve,
As thou art less inclin'd to Love!