Classic Poem

LITTLE thing!
I would sing,
Lofty song,
Measure long;
But I fear,
That thine ear
Such a poem could not bear.
Therefore I
Mean to try
Humbler lays
Worthy praise,
If my strains,
Work'd thee pains,
'Tis not mine,
To divine,
Whether cost,
Labour lost,
May on Lilliput be toss'd.
Horse and foot
Would you put,
In the way,
Who could say,
I had blame,
If they came
Near my stride
And beside
My huge foot gigantic dy'd?
But, while here
I appear
Mountain-size,
To little eyes;
All that strain,
Seek in vain,
Whilst I climb,
Heights sublime,
To keep pace,
And to trace
My footsteps, as I move with martial grace.
Though; 'tis true,
Praise is due,
To your lay,
Yet I pray,
You'll attend,
To a friend.
On my hand,
Should you stand;
If those that soar,
Fall the low'r,
All Lilliput would yours deplore.
Humbly then,
With little men,
Take your stand,
On firm land,
Lest your place,
Bring disgrace:
High in air,
Great the care,
To be free
From jeopardy,
Careless found,
You might bound,
Little poet! to the ground.