Classic Poem

The Muse is languid & Æmilia too
So as You read keep these too things in view,
Yet 'tis with Joy I call Palemon Friend
Nor vainly know a Term like Condescend
For Virtue such as yours demands Regard
And carries with it more than a Reward;
But I the Laurel of your Brow disclaim
And will not purchase at your Cost my Fame
Nor think (I pray) my Principle too nice,
My Friendship is not worth so high a Price
But stop my Pen — there is a Maxim held
One which the wise do say has never fail'd,
And that is, " When a Lady most reveres
She will accept as oft as she confers:
In spite of Resolution & of Pride
Then I'll not strive my alter'd Tho'ts to hide
But I will take the Wreath Palemon plac'd
Upon my Brows & has my Temple grac'd
Each Merit you ascribe to me I'll own
And strive t'attain a Height before unknown
But oh! to breath the soft Parnassian Air
To be the Muses & Apollo's Care
To soar to Helicon with daring Wings
And taste the Nectar of Castalian Springs
I ne'er can hope, while Men against us rise
And Female Learning in the Kitchen lies.
Good in its Place, but why to that alone
Has Custom cruel Custom chain'd us down?
I own well pleas'd it is our noblest End
To sooth your Toils, & all your Cares to blend
With winning Softness & domestick Peace,
To raise your Joys & animate your Bliss;
Yet might we not in a refin'd Degree
Do more than that, if we like you were free
To pry into the easy flow'ry Parts
Of gentle Science & the liberal Arts;
Then with some Judgment we might entertain
You in an Hour when Fondness might give pain.
But I have done I'm pain'd at the Review
Since 'tis an Airy Phantom I pursue;
Our Lines are fix'd, we must Embrace our Lot
Or else We're Female Pedants & what not.