 | The Distressed Poet |  |
It was not for the first time now,
Apollo made this Dame his bow,
Having, in his doctorial station,
Conferr'd on her much obligation,
By patching up, from dissolution,
A sad old Devil's constitution,
One of our Lady's Cater-Cousins,
Who'd cut up characters by dozens,
And liv'd as naturally on slander,
As does by fire the Salamander.
Apollo made this Dame his bow,
Having, in his doctorial station,
Conferr'd on her much obligation,
By patching up, from dissolution,
A sad old Devil's constitution,
One of our Lady's Cater-Cousins,
Who'd cut up characters by dozens,
And liv'd as naturally on slander,
As does by fire the Salamander.
| The Distressed Poet | |