Classic Poem

When poets gave their god in Crete a birth,
Then Jupiter held traffic with the earth,
And had a farm to let. The fine was high,
For much the treas'ry wanted a supply,
By Danaë's wealthy show'r exhausted quite, and dry.
But Merc'ry, who as steward kept the court,
So racked the rent that all who made resort
Unsatisfied returned, nor could agree
To use the lands, or pay his secret fee:
Till one poor clown (thought subtler than the rest
Thro' various projects rolling in his breast)
Consents to take it, if at his desire
All weathers towards his harvest may conspire:
The frost to kill the worm, the brooding snow,
The filling rains may come, and Phoebus glow.
The terms accepted, signed and sealed the lease,
His neighbour's grounds afford their due increase,
The care of heaven; the owner's cares may cease;
Whilst the new tenant, anxious in his mind,
Now asks a shower, now craves a rustling wind
To raise what that had lodged, that he the sheaves may bind.
The sun, th' o'er-shadowing clouds, the moistening dews,
He with such contrariety does choose:
So often and so oddly shifts the scene,
Whilst others load, he scarce has what to glean.

O Jupiter! with famine pinched he cries,
No more will I direct th' unerring skies;
No more my substance on a project lay,
No more a sullen doubt I will betray:
Let me but live to reap, do thou appoint the way.