Classic Poem

Him who extortion deems no crime,
And glories in trespasses,
Now, as a colt, he sports the prime,
Since kick'd down from Parnassus.

Now since I learn you are an ass,
(To write me so was well done)
For every lass swore by the Mass,
You was a famous gelding.

No miser ever yet got up,
To court the Nine's caresses.
Nor drank from Helicon a drop,
The pride of Mount Parnassus.

None but the poor or generous soul,
E'er gain'd their heavenly graces,
While Gripe must in perdition howl,
Or bray among the asses.

There's two-three colts to meet one day,
Their prince in the Cross-causeys ,
Then like loy'l colts they loud will bray,
And crown him king of asses.