Classic Poem

With wond'rous delight I've now por'd o'er the pages,
Your goodness was pleas'd to remit me a while;
Which, tho' they have seen near a couple of ages,
Still flow in a simple, smooth beauty of stile.
Wit here and there flashes, the reader alarming,
And Humour oft bends the pleas'd face to a smile;
How sweetly he sings of his Chloe so charming;
How lofty of William's dread conquests and spoil.

And, oh! how the heart with soft passion is moved,
While Emma pours out her fond bosom in song;
In tears I exclaim, Heav'ns! how the maid loved,
But ah! 'twas too cruel to try her so long.
But quickly young Laughter extirpates my mourning,
To hear the poor Doctor haranguing his wife,
Who stretch'd upon bed, lies tumultuously turning,
And pants to engage in sweet Venus's strife.

In short, my good friend, I esteem him a poet,
Whose mem'ry will live while the Luscious can charm;
And Rochester sure had desisted to show it,
If conscious that P — — r so keenly cou'd warm.
So nicely he paints it, he words it so modest,
So swiftly he varies his flight in each line;
Now soaring on high, in expressions the oddest,
Now sinking, and deigning to grovel with swine.

The Ladle, O raptures! what Bard can exceed it?
" His modesty, Sir, I admire him for that " —
Hans Carvel most gloriously ends when you read it,
But Paulo Purganti — how flaming! how fat!
Ten thousand kind thanks I return for your bounty;
For, troth, I'm transported whenever I think
How Fame will proclaim me aloud through each country,
For singing like P — — r of Ladles and st — k.