Classic Poem

Say Pregnant Muse!
What wond'rous Subject wilt thou choose?
What godlike Heroe, or what mighty King
Wilt thou in lofty Numbers sing?
Oh! tell the Theam
That thus disturbs thy Rest,
That drives thee to this wild Extream,
And with such Fury agitates my Breast.
Hence, hence dull Goddess tempt no more,
Thy fickle Humour I abhor:
There's nothing now to be admir'd
Since Dryden is from Earth retir'd.
Forgive, Oh Muse! I find 'tis he,
'Tis Dryden does thy Notes inspire:
He who first instructed thee,
And tun'd thy inharmonious Lyre.