Pluto, offended with a sprite,
Discharged from the realms of night,
(So masters turn away from school
The turbulent they cannot rule.)

Her impship, in a wretched plight,
Patroll'd the streets from morn till night;
Then curl'd her hair, adorn'd her spruce,
And took the lovely name of Muse;
Went to the Cock in quest of sport,
Where powerful Dulness keeps her court;
There, seated in a one-arm'd chair,
Dissolv'd herself in empty air,
Flew to the caverns of each brain,
Which drowsy floods of life contain;
Made the slow currents change their tide,
And through poetic channels glide:
Silence was banish'd in disgrace,
And tumult overflow'd the place.
They try to spin harmonious verse,
And make the vocal walls rehearse.
Thrice happy Bards, with genius small,
Can animate a stupid wall!
O fertile wall, in barren times,
Can bear a heavy crop of rhimes.

True genius leads to certain fame,
But, since her aid you can't attain,
To make your feeble names endure,
A lump of marble each procure,
When shap'd a busto, high in air
Place it nine feet in Westminster,
This, like the sun, for ages seen,
Will keep your laurels ever green.

A close connection will appear
'Twixt marble heads, and those you wear.
Pond'rous they are, by all allow'd,
But equall'd by the rhiming crowd;
For, when they're weighed in scales together,
Yours will be lighter than a feather.
One to the other is a sequel,
Because the brains of both are equal;
They, dull, and thick, and cold, 'tis true,
And this is just the case with you.