Classic Poem

Tell me young man, or did the Muses bring
Thee lesse to taste, then to drink up their spring;
That none hereafter sho'd be thought, or be
A Poet, or a Poet-like but Thee.
What was thy Birth, thy starre that makes thee knowne,
At twice ten yeares, a prime and publike one?
Tell us thy Nation, kindred, or the whence
Thou had'st, and hast thy mighty influence,
That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd,
And no lesse prais'd, then of the maides admir'd.
Put on thy Laurell then; and in that trimme
Be thou Apollo, or the type of him:
Or let the Unshorne God lend thee his Lyre,
And next to him, be Master of the Quire.