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At this old Phoebus shook his head,
And, clawing where there was no need,
He spat, and fidging twice or thrice,
Said, “Phaeton, my son, be wise:
‘I promised, but did suppose,
‘That thou didst see before thy nose,
‘And was not such an arrant sheep,
‘As not to look before thou leap.
‘ Would God I had a toleration
‘To swear with mental reservation;
‘This only suit I would deny;
‘Pox on the sin of perjury.
‘I may dissuade, since thy desires
‘Above thy age and strength aspires;
‘And since so feeble hands, as these are,
‘Unable are to guide the day-star.
‘Except myself, none of the train,
‘Of Gods can guide my fiery wain:
‘ Whatever they may vainly boast,
‘None of them can rule such a roast.
‘Let Jove himself, the great Mogul
‘Of Heav'n, vapour as he will,
‘And wild-fire, like a juggler, spit,
‘To fright poor mortals out of wit,
‘He cannot guide my steeds, mark that,
‘ And who with Jove can bell the cat?
 
Concutiens illustre caput ------
------ Utinam promissa liceret
Non dare.
------ Placeat sibi quisque licebit.
------ Et quid Jove majus habetur?