Classic Poem

Greeting.

Rhyming 's a trade, DREAD S IRS , so common,
There hardly lives a man or woman
Who has not, on some odd attack,
Bestrode poor Pegasus's back.
Poor Pegasus, who us'd far worse, is
Than asses, mules, or hobby horses;
Poor Pegasus, oblig'd to caper,
Beneath those madding imps of paper,
(Till he in's tail has scarce a hair,)
Whether side-saddl'd, rough or bare.
Nay, I sometimes, from garret vile
Descend to manage him a mile,
Sans spur or whip, to prick or lash on,
Following the best Newmarket fashion;
Wherefore, sage Censors of the nation,
Licens'd to traffic on DAMNATION ,
I think it meet, your rant and sputter,
And kick those jockies in the gutter;
Revise, review, correct their matter,
Squirt, fidget, fumble, and bespatter;
Lay every knave upon his back,
Condemn! but " spare your sweet, old Jack! "
Let me, of favour taste the gravy,
For lo! submiss, I cry, peccavi ,
Kneel, meekly, at your toes so mighty
And pen smooth Sonnets to delight ye;
For well I ken, Sage Sons of letters,
You, verily, are much my betters,
At least, I know 'tis a true story,
(As papists pass thro' purgatory,)
By gaining your fair approbation,
I, also, gain this world's salvation.
And if small folks to sense aspiring,
Should find no energy, or fire in
My lays, what care I for their cavil?
Ill pit you, Sirs , against the devil.