Classic Poem

Crushed by that just contempt his follies bring
On his crazed head, the vermin fain would sting.
But never satire did so softly bite,
Or gentle George himself more gently write.
Born to no other but thy own disgrace,
Thou art a thing so wretched and so base,
Thou canst not e'en offend but with thy face,
And dost at once a sad example prove
Of harmless malice and of hopeless love,
All pride and ugliness—O how we loathe
A nauseous creature so composed of both!
How oft have we thy cap'ring person seen
With dismal look and melancholy mien,
The just reverse of Nokes when he would be
Some mighty hero and makes love like thee.
Thou art below being laughed at out of spite:
Men gaze upon thee as a hideous sight
And cry, “There goes the melancholy knight!”
There are some modish fools we daily see,
Modest and dull; why they are wits to thee!
For of all folly sure the very top
Is a conceited ninny and a fop.
With face of farce joined to a head romancy
There's no such coxcomb as your fool of fancy.
But 'tis too much on so despised a theme:
No man would dabble in a dirty stream.
The worst that I could write would be no more
Than what thy very friends have said before.