In one great man we view with odds
A parallel to all the gods.
Great Jove, that shook heaven with his brow,
Could never match his princely bow.
In him a Bacchus we behold:
Like Bacchus, too, he ne'er grows old.
Like Phoebus next, a flaming lover;
And then he's Mercury-all over.
A Vulcan, for domestic strife,
He lamely lives without his wife.
And sure-unless our wits be dull-
Minerva-like, when moon was full,
He issued from paternal skull.
R. et R.