Classic Poem

Dear Dan, it does amaze me quite,
To see you write, and write, and write,
But how the Devil you can come by't
's a wonder.

Though 'tis but Grubstreet, yet that same
I think so much above thy aim
As the sublime and shining flame
Of thunder

Does far surpass the sooty blaze
Of slut dispensing kitchen grease;
And, if this be the present case,
Consider

How much your ribaldry provokes,
With fulsome lines and poor, dull jokes.
There's no return but cudgel-strokes,
On hide, Sir,

Can I in honor make to you.
For if you'd finely run me through,
Perhaps I'd take a rapier too,
And fight you.

Thy blood might then my wrath assuage,
When honor called me to engage,
But you're so far below my rage,
I slight you.

From barking cur, the mastiff flies,
But when behind he bites his thighs,
He turns and pisses out his eyes,
Disdaining

So small and pitiful a foe,
From noisy boasting brought so low;
The picture's drawn; I'm sure you know