CUMBERLAND PACQUET 12 November 1816 / A Very Irregular Ode

[Barb Baker]

A VERY IRREGULAR ODE,

Addressed to the Muses.

 

MUSES ! Heaven bless You; but you're squeamish Jades;

Your Vot'ries, who don't plainly tell you so,

Of your Vagaries very little know.

I would not for the World, say You're Old Maids;

But Antiquated Virgins, sure you are;

So far may Truth permit me to declare.

 

Not, for a Nabob's Wealth, would I accord

One Thought that might asperse your ancient Fame,

Nor of your ragged Garments say one Word,

Because from high Olympian Jove they came,

And, - as we all believe - are still the same.

(Permit me to dispute APPOLLO'S Claim)

 

But that they're worse for Wear may be the Case;

Four Thousand Years, in Country or in Town,

Or on Parnassus, or in any Place,

It Time enough to thread-bare any Gown,

And your's, perhaps, were spun from Iris Woof,

A charming Colour, - but not Water-Proof.

And as to Fashions ; - on the Muses Hill,

They vary not. - On Earth - they ne'er stand still.

 

But, of your Coyness, 'faith, I must complain;

I've courted you - just for a Song,

Or trifling Ode, - or this or that,

A Rebus, - or I don't know what,

I blush to think how long,

Yet not a Soul of you regards my Strain.

 

I've known some Suppliants at your Shrine, so mad,

They call'd you every Thing that's bad.

"Lead Apes, ye Hags, (they cry'd) you'll never find

Nor Mortal, nor Immortal, so inclin'd

To make you other than you were created;

Ah, no; you musty Dolls, you'll ne'er be mated."

Such Words as these, I always reprobated.

 

Oh, gentle Ladies, listen to my Prayer,

Be sweetly kind, - as you are chaste and fair;

You know I'm neither Flatterer nor Scorner.

One Smile upon this Verse would you but deign,

At once the Summit of my Pride I gain,

And cut a Figure in the Poet's Corner.

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