Classic Poem

Let each vain giddy-brain'd Poetic Fop
Talk of Parnassus , or its double Top,
And by his Fanciful Describing it,
Think to procure the vain Name of a Wit:
Whilst, Chloris! Thou, my Muse and Theme shalt be;
Thy Breasts, those Twins of Hills, shall be to me
Parnassus , since he, who is Head on them
Can lay, can ne'r want Wit on such a Theme,
Or Pleasant, Amorous, Poetic Dream:
Then once my Head upon them let me lay,
They higher Thoughts into it will convey;
They'll fire with Love, at once, my Breast and Brain,
'Till my fierce Love the Name of Rage may gain;
Their Touch inspires Love, Love with Vanity;
So wou'd they prove best Aids of Poetry;
When touch'd by my own Hand, they give me Love,
And me to Rage, when touch'd by others, move;
So my best Aids to Love and Satyr prove;
Since all who see them, they must needs inspire,
Both with the Lover's Flame, and Poet's Fire;
They needs must give us Wit, that give us Love,
Which Fancy, Sense, Invention does improve;
Since Love ne'r made a Lover, (that we know)
But, the same time, it made a Poet too;
Yet, to write better, on thy Breasts my Theme,
In Verse, not only, let me handle Them.