In one great man we view with odds
A parallel to all the gods.
Great Jove, that shook heaven with his brow,
Could never match his princely bow.
In him a Bacchus we behold:
Like Bacchus, too, he ne'er grows old.
Like Phaebus next, a flaming lover;
And then he's Mercury — all over.
A Vulcan, for domestic strife,
He lamely lives without his wife.
And sure — unless our wits be dull —
Minerva-like, when moon was full,
He issued from paternal skull.