Classic Poem

Since so oft to the Great of my Favours you boast,
When, you know, you enjoy'd but some Kisses at most;
And those, as you say, never ought to be sold,
For Love's too divine, to be barter'd for Gold.
Since this is your Maxim, I beg a Receipt,
To know, how without it a Lover can eat.
For tho' the fine Heroes, we read in Romances,
Subsisted whole Weeks upon amorous Fancies;
And yet were so strong, if those Writers say true,
That Dragons, and Giants, some thousands they slew;
Those Chiefs were of Origin surely divine!
And descended from Jove , as direct as a Line.
But in our corrupted, degenerate Days,
We find neither Heroes, nor Lovers, like these:
Our Men have scarce Courage to speak to a Lass,
" Till they've had a full Meal, and a chirrupping Glass;
And so much in myself of the Mortal I find,
That my Body wants Diet, as well as my Mind.

Now, pray, Sir, consider the Case of your Mistress,
Who neither can kiss, nor write Verses, in Distress:
For Bacchus , and Ceres , we frequently prove,
Are Friends to the Muses, as well as to Love.