Classic Poem

I.

The Reading Muses mal-prepens'd,
By Pride seduc'd, by Spleen incens'd,
A Suit (for Rapes and Wrongs) commenc'd
Transcendant.
Phaebus sat Judge of the Debate:
Three Bards o'th Shire as Plaintiffs wait,
And honest Syl of St John 's Gate
Defendant .

II.

Archilochus , a meer Nol Bluff,
First, belch'd out Hurlo-thrumbo Stuff,
Not Pistol seem'd a verier Puff
I'th' Play, Sir.
All swore and storm'd, like Men bereft,
" Adultry, Mangling, Murder, Theft, "
Gramercy! — — till they'd nothing left
To say, Sir.

III.

The Charge was read " Adulteration
" Of the rich Product of their Nation, "
Words all of dark Interpretation,
'Tis plain, Sir.
But what his crying Guilt had been,
Syl (sacrilegious Act of Sin!)
" Had stabb'd their tuneful Virgins in
" Each Vein, Sir . "

IV.

For Proofs they vouch the London Mag — —
Phaebus , inclin'd to play the Wagg,
Cries, Wou'd you Grub-street Vouchers bragg
T'abuse me?
I know not what odd Name you mean;
Pleas'd, I the Gentleman 's have seen,
But for that other Magazine — —
— Excuse me.

V.

Good lack, like Statues alamort ,
They look'd and star'd in rueful sort;
Ah Syl! thou 'st 'scap'd (thank Phaebus for't)
A Gibbet.
Yet will'd him strait the God of Wit ,
(Himself impartially t'acquit)
Each Piece just simply as 'twas writ
T' exhibit.

VI.

Syl , sure to make his Party good,
Produc'd their Verses as they stood,
When these three Children in a Wood
First penn'd 'em.
In simple Dress with which they shin'd,
Ere (by their own Request inclin'd)
Cross Friend! he'd been so plaguey kind
To mend 'em.

VII.

From Pocket clean each Piece he brought,
(Our Sportsmen hop'd their Fox was caught)
And humbly low the Judge besought
To read 'em.
Yet dropt a Hint, that each soft Rhime,
Himself to pocket were no Crime,
His Lordship at a pinching Time
Might need 'em.

VIII.

Apollo squinted on the Papers,
But quickly found they bred the Vapours,
Then spoke, in Words as keen as Rapiers
( Syl 's stead in)
False, and disgraceful to our Sway!
Muses! — your Counterfeits survey.
Death! Hangman, here! — — Ah welladay!
Poor Reading !