Classic Poem

Great Pompey's Fame from Egypt made escape,
And flies to you for succour in this shape:
A shape, which, I assur'd him, would appear,
Nor fit for you to see, nor him to wear
Yet he says, Madam, he's resolv'd to come,
And run a hazard of a second doom:
But still he hopes to bribe you, by that trust
You may be kind, but cannot be unjust;
Each of whose favours will delight him more
Than all the Lawrels that his temples wore:
Yet if his Name and his misfortunes fail,
He thinks my intercession will prevail;
And whilst my Numbers would relate his end,
Not like a Judge you'l listen, but a friend;
For how can either of us fear your frown,
Since he and I are both so much your own.
 But when you wonder at my bold design,
Remember who did that high task enjoin;
Th illustrious Orrery , whose least command,
You would more wonder if I could withstand:
Of him I cannot which is hardest tell,
Or not to praise him, or to praise him well;
Who on that height from whence true glory came,
Does there possess and thence distribute fame;
Where all their Lyres the willing Muses bring,
To learn of him whatever they shall sing;
Since all must yield, whilst there are Books or Men,
The Universal Empire to his Pen;
Oh! had that powerfull genius but inspir'd
The feeble hand, whose service he requir'd,
It had your justice then, not mercy pray'd,
Had pleas'd you more, and better him obey'd.