University of Virginia Library

ODE XIV.

With your good leave, my lords, I'll now take mine,
Not deem'd perchaunce, a poet quite divine—
Perchaunce with beasts at Ephesus I've warr'd,
Like that prodigious orator St. Paul,
And for my stanzas, p'rhaps both great and small,
You kindly wish me feather'd well and tarr'd.
You think I loathe the name of king, no doubt—
Indeed, my lords, you never were more out:
I am not of that envious class of elves;
Though dame M'Auley turns on kings her tail;
With great respect the sacred names I hail,
That is, of monarchs who respect themselves.
But should they act with meanness, or like fools,
The muse shall place a fool's cap on their skulls.
Stubborn as many a king, indeed, I am—
That is, as stubborn as a halter'd ram:
A change in Peter's life you must not hope:
To try to wash an ass's face,
Is really labour to misplace;
And really loss of time, as well as sope.