“He flatter'd in youth, he lampoon'd in his prime,”
Quoth Memory's Bard of our poet;
But the fault was not his, 'twas a deed done by Time,
My very next stanza shall show it.

Whoever has sported on Tempe's green lawn,
Has found out the truth of the matter;
'Tis plain that, by law mythologic, a Faun
In process of time grows a Satyr.