 | The Distressed Poet |  |
Apollo took his hat and rose,
Here let, said he, our conference close,
Convinc'd, I to your guidance yield,
And leave you Mistress of the field;
To give these injur'd Damsels ease,
Act with the Culprit as you please.
He bow'd—Each Muse with smile serene
Curtsying, slipt on her Capuchin,
And one by one all sidled out,
Like modish Ladies from a Rout.
Here let, said he, our conference close,
69
And leave you Mistress of the field;
To give these injur'd Damsels ease,
Act with the Culprit as you please.
He bow'd—Each Muse with smile serene
Curtsying, slipt on her Capuchin,
And one by one all sidled out,
Like modish Ladies from a Rout.
| The Distressed Poet | |