Classic Poem

Curs'd be those dull, unpointed, dogg'rel rhymes,
Whose harmless rage has lash'd our impious times.
Rise thou, my muse, and with the sharpest thorn,
Instead of peaceful bays, my brows adorn;
Inspir'd with just disdain and mortal hate,
Who long have been my plague, shall feel thy weight.
I scorn a giddy and unsafe applause,
But this, ye gods, is fighting in your cause;
Let Sodom speak, and let Gomorrah tell,
If their curs'd walls deserv'd their flames so well.
Go on, my muse, and with bold voice proclaim
The vicious lives and long detested fame
Of scoundrel lords, and their lewd wives' amours,
Pimp-statesmen, bugg'ring priests, court bawds, and whores.

Oh, sacred James! may thy dread noddle be
As free from danger as from wit 'tis free!
But if that good and gracious Monarch's charms
Could ne'er confine one woman to his arms,
What strange, mysterious spell, what strong defense,
Can guard that front which has not half his sense?
Poor Sedley's fall e'en her own sex deplore,
Who with so small temptation turn'd thy whore.
But Grafton bravely does revenge her fate
And says, thou court'st her thirty years too late;
She scorns such dwindles, her capacious arse
Is fitter for thy scepter, than thy tarse.