Classic Poem

With music and poetry equally blessed,
A bard thus Apollo most humbly addressed:
" Great author of harmony, verses and light!
Assisted by thee, I both fiddle and write.
Yet unheeded I scrape, or I scribble all day;
My verse is neglected, my tunes flung away.
Thy substitute here, Vice-Apollo, disdains
To vouch for my numbers, or list to my strains;
Thy manual signet refuses to put
To the airs I produce from the pen or the gut.
Be thou then propitious, great Phoebus, and grant
Relief or reward to my merit or want.
Though the Dean and Delany transcendently shine,
O! brighten one solo or sonnet of mine.
With them, I'm content thou should'st make thy abode,
But visit thy servant in jig or in ode.
Make one work immortal; 'tis all I request. "
Apollo looked pleased and, resolving to jest,
Replied, " Honest friend, I've considered thy case,
Nor dislike thy well-meaning and humorous face.
Thy petition I grant; the boon is not great.
Thy works shall continue, and here's the receipt:
On rondeaus hereafter, thy fiddle-strings spend;
Write verses in circles — they never shall end. "