Classic Poem

My friend, you're now invidious grown,
To make th'Arabian wealth your own,
And 'gainst unconquer'd Saba war declare,
And for the barb'rous Mede his future chains prepare.
What virgin, when her love is slain,
Shall be a handmaid in thy train?
And, when thou din'st, what youth from out the court,
Shall stand with essenc'd hair, thy splendour to support?
An archer of paternal craft,
Skill'd to direct the Indian shaft! —
Who now denies but streams their ways may force
Back to the lofty hills, and Tiber change his course,
When you choice books so dearly bought,
On doctrines that Panaetius taught,
And your Socratick stock for armour sell,
Whose taste for better things at first set out so well?