Classic Poem

B EGON , our Nation's Pleasure and Reproach!
Britain no more with idle Trills debauch;
Back to thy own unmanly Venice sail,
Where Luxury and loose Desires prevail;
There thy Emasculating Voice employ,
And raise the Triumphs of the wanton Boy.
Long, ah! too long the soft Enchantment reign'd,
Seduc'd the Wise, and ev'n the Brave enchain'd;
Hence with thy Curst deluding Song! away!
Shall British Freedom thus become thy Prey?
Freedom, which we so dearly us'd to Prize,
We scorn'd to yield it — But to British Eyes.

Assist, ye Gales; with expeditious Care
Waft this prepost'rous Idol of the Fair;
Consent, ye Fair, and let the Trifler go,
Nor bribe with Wishes adverse Winds to blow:
Nonsense grew pleasing by his Syren Arts,
And stole from Shakespear's self our easie Hearts.