Pasquin, can nought thy daring pen impede,
Or stem the venom of thy critic gall?
Shall thy Pegasus cause whole legions bleed,
And thou sit smiling as their numbers fall?

By Heav'n, I'll probe thee to the heartfelt core,
If Thespis hurls again his satire round,
E'en thy existence, by the gods I've swore;
To bring by strength, Samsonian, to the ground.

Nor shall old Styx with potent magic fraught,
Or hell itself my Herod fury check;
I'll leap their bounds, expand the wings of thought,
And twist the Slygian chains about thy neck.

For know, that giants must with giants vie,
And such art thou, magnanimous and proud;
Disdaining all that gives thy works the lie,
And spurning those who've threaten'd vengeance vow'd.

But shall thy haughty and indignant quill
Hurl barbed shafts at Reputation's death;
No! I'll annihilate thy savage will,
Abridge the source of thy infectious breath.

The fires of Etna shall awhile be mine,
To set thy satires in a gen'ral blaze;
And from thy ashes rebuild Folly's shrine,
That ideots may upon the structure gaze.

Imperious tyrant! doth my threats affright
Thy yet ungovern'd and undaunted soul?
Or rather fill thee with renew'd delight,
Such as when Paris lovely Helen stole!

Yes! for eternal warfare is thy sport,
With those who will not own thy iron sway;
When monarchs fear, and queens thy graces court,
And all thy Thespian tribe thy nod obey.

But let the novice in theatric art,
Ne'er spurn the letter'd offspring of thy brain;
Let him forbear to feel the scourge's smart,
Tho' I thy pow'r, bold Anthony, disdain.