Classic Poem

 A T Blake's was cut the Pedant's hair,
To give the head a fashion'd air.
 The turnpike despots made a song,
Of Rules that govern right and wrong;
The first obtruded all his trash,
Exchang'd for current silver cash;
Of course was laugh'd at by the second,
Who gave me worse —as duly reckon'd.
 Lov'd Eton , at the Montem Hill ,
Brought scenes to mind— that paid the bill
 At Maidenhead the virgin flower
In dreams resum'd its nuptial hour.
 At Reading , as I drew my cork,
In came the martial Duke of York;
Four batter'd steeds the Atlas drew,
And swift as wings of lightning flew.
I ask'd what meant this pelting haste;
They said—“it was a Royal taste. ”
An air that says, or seems to say,
“ Europe is lost if I delay.”
 At Newbury , 'twas at the Pelican ,
I found a rhime that answer'd Helicon .

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