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The Distressed Poet

A Serio-Comic Poem, in Three Cantos. By George Keate
  
  

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Apollo, by his maid, requested
To know how his nine guests had rested;
Who in the humblest terms exprest,
Her master was both shav'd and drest,
And, whensoe'er they were at leisure,
That breakfast would attend their pleasure.
The Muses, all alert, descended,
And on his tea-table attended.

52

This country (cries the pleasant God)
To you, dear Girls, must seem but odd;
With your celestial frames ill-suiting;
Here life's perpetually recruiting,
And without three good meals a day,
Its wasting wheels won't keep in play;
Let me, as Doctor, then advise,
To eat the moment that you rise;
See, I've provided you good stuffing,
Here's Toast, and Yorkshire Cake, and Muffin,
And the best Tea without exception,
Unmixt and free from all deception.—
This business over, we'll pursue
The scheme which so much interests you,
And seek this mischief-making Dame,
On whom we now must have a claim.