Great God of Numbers, speak the Cause,
Why Fortune persecutes the Bays;
Why Poets only gain Applause,
While others profit by their Lays?

For ever must thy Servants' Pen
To all besides Success impart:
Themselves alone th' unhappy Men
Condemn'd to perish by their Art?

Yes, says the God, 'Tis so decreed;
The Sentence ever will remain — —
Fools by repeating shall succeed:
I, and my Sons, must charm in vain!