Classic Poem

Thus did you strive to vouchsafe James to Heaven,
O Beast, who lurks on the seven hills?
Unless your divine majesty can bestow better favors,
spare, I pray, your insidious gifts.
Indeed he has departed ripe in years, without your help
and without the employment of infernal powder, to his comrades, the stars.
Thus instead, banish to the sky your detestable cowls
and all the brute gods profane Rome possesses;
for unless you aid each one firmly in this or some other way,
believe me, they will hardly mount the path to heaven successfully.