Writ on a Blank Leaf of an Obscene Poem

The sacred nine , first, spread their golden wings,
In praise of virtue , heroes , and of kings:
Chast were their lays , and ev'ry verse design'd,
To soften nature , and exalt the mind .
Loosely the moderns live , and loosely write ,
And woo their muse , as Mistress , for delight .
Thick, in their lays , obscenities abound,
As weeds spring plenteous , in the rankest ground:
All, who write verse , to taint a guiltless heart ,
Are vile profaners of the sacred art .
Cloy'd, the sick reader from the work retires,
And, e're the writer dies, his fame expires.
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