Classic Poem

 His tube Apollo now laid down,
His noble brow assum'd a frown:
Zounds, Girls, the angry God reply'd,
Who can your cursed noise abide?
In P LUTO'S name, say what's the matter,
What brings you here, or why this chatter?
Nine clacks at once together going,
And not a soul the reason knowing!
I plainly see with half a glance,
Your tongues have got S T . V ITUS ' dance,
They jig so much, and make such slips,
You cannot keep them in your lips;
A pill of mine will set all right,
And you shall each take one to-night.

 The M USES , fearing that Apollo
His pill might with a blister follow,
Lower'd their haughty tone.—Your pills,
Great Sir (they cry'd) can't cure our ills;
But in your pow'r, and your science,
Your Servants place most firm reliance,
Quite confident your Godship never
From us will your affection sever.
Nor wonder if both pride and spirit
From you, our Sov'reign, we inherit;
And if with too much warmth and zeal
We to that Sov'reign now appeal,
Think what just rage must be excited
In Nine young Females basely slighted.
Is't not enough that ev'ry day
Our once firm champions steal away,
And all their rapt'rous ardour close
Not in brisk verse, but stupid prose?
Sure this will vindicate our fury
Before yourself, or any jury.
Nay, with all these vexations rife,
O NE whom we deem'd our own for life,
O NE whom thro' ANCIENT R OME we led,
And taught the dang'rous A LPS to tread,
And thence his steps conducted where
Our much belov'd, much mourn'd V OLTAIRE
In F ERNEY fix'd that splendid throne
Which your own voice confirm'd his own;
O NE too, who ween'd no Lady M USE
To aid his purpose durst refuse,
Whether he chose to move along
Plaintive, in elegiac song ,
Or, sporting to some lighter measure,
Unlock'd gay Humour's comic treasure,
Hath from our standard basely flown,
And to a Rival pref'rence shown.
Can you believe? th' apostate creature
All his addresses pays to N ATURE !
To her his faithless arms he stretches,
Her charms adores, her movements sketches ;
To her a T EMPLE now he's raising,
Where soon her altar will be blazing,
And all her treasures sparkle round,
And the proud Dome her fame resound,
Unless our own Apollo aids
The cause of his deserted Maids,
And blasting Falshood in its birth,
Dashes this Edifice to earth.