Classic Poem

Apollo .

Shame to Parnassus! why for Bread
With Rhimes wou'd you prophane the Dead?

Poetaster .

His Lordship was intomb'd last night;
What harm his Epitaph to write,
Or with an Elegy to wait
At his sad Widow 's lofty Gate?
What can I do? I have no Meat :
I needs must Rhime! for I must Eat .

Apollo .

My Lord , I own, was wise , and brave ;
But leave him quiet in his Grave .
You ask in Alms my sacred Fire;
In Charity shall I inspire?
Go, seek some fitter Trade to live:
This vile Affront I'll ne'er forgive!

Poetaster .

Homer cou'd Write , tho' he was Poor ,
And beg in Verse from door, to door,

Apollo .

My Lord , I own, was wife , and brave ;
But leave him quiet in his Grave .
You ask in Alms my sacred Fire;
In Charity shall I inspire?
Go, seek some fitter Trade to live:
This vile Affront I'll ne'er forgive!

Poetaster .

Homer cou'd Write , tho' he was Poor ,
And beg in Verse from door, to door,

Apollo .

Tis granted; but he never writ
In spite of Nature , Sense , and Wit ;
But to obey the Muses call,
Kindly invited by us All.
Still stupid, profligate, and poor,
Turn Pimp , or Bully to a Whore ,
Jailor , or Hangman ; but forbear,
With great Apollo thus to war!