On sight of this celestial prude,
Apollo thought it vain to stay;
Nor in her presence durst be rude,
But made his leg, and went away.
He hop'd to find some lucky hour,
When on their queen the Muses wait
But Pallas owns Ardelia's power;
For vows divine are kept by Fate.
Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke:
Deceitful nymph! I see thy art;
And, though I can't my gift revoke,
I'll disappoint its nobler part.
Let stubborn pride possess thee long,
And be thou negligent of fame;
With every Muse to grace thy song,
May'st thou despise a poet's name!
Of modest poets thou be first;
To silent shades repeat thy verse,
Till Fame and Echo almost burst,
Yet hardly dare one line rehearse.
And last, my vengeance to complete,
May'st thou descend to take renown,
Prevail'd on by the thing you hate,
A whig! and one that wears a gown!
