Classic Poem

SIR ,

A T sight of this you scarcely will Excuse
My broken Numbers should affront your Muse,
Whose single Elegance outdoes the Nine;
And all their off'rings at Apollo' s shrine .

But, Sir, they come not to Affront, but are
Trembling before your awful Seat to hear,
From you their Sentence that's definitive,
Whither they shall be kill'd, or sav'd alive.

Yet when you Censure, Sir, don't make the Verse
You pin'd to Glover's venerable Hearse ,
The standard for their Trial: nor Enact
You never will acquit, what's Left Exact.

Sir, that will never do; Rules so severe
Would ever Leave Apollo's Altars bare ,
His Priests no service: All must starve Together
And fair Parnassus Verdant tops must wither .

Sure that was not the purpose nor design,
Of the fair Sisters when they did Combine
Themselves in your Assistance: no their mind
In that great Work was otherwise Design'd.

They having often to their Trouble seen
Many bold Poets Launch on Hipocrene;
Men that might have a handsom Voyage made
Had they but kept them to the Coasting Trade.

But Ranging far upon those swelling Seas,
Came home with broken Lines and Voyages:
Griev'd at those Losses and Miscarriages,
A Council met at Hipocrenidees.
They Vote a Remedy which to Effect
That their Herculan Pillar did Erect ,
And to advise Adventurers once for all,
Writ ne plus ultra on it's Pedestal .

Since which there's none that dare presume to go
Beyond that wonder then set up by you,
No nor attain it in their Navigation,
That sacred work is not for Imitation!

Conscious of this, you see my Muse ne're soars
To Hiblas top nor the Aonian shoars,
Nor doth pretend to Raptures that might sute,
Pindarus Muse or great Apollo's Lute.

Then weigh them Candidly, and if that you
Shall once pronounce a Longer Life their due:
And for their Patron will your self Engage ,
They may perhaps Adventure on the stage:
But if deny'd, they blushing back retire
To burn themselves in their own funeral Fire!