Disarm'd with so genteel an air, The contest I give o'er; Yet, Alexander, have a care, And shock the sex no more. We rule the world our whole life's space; Men but assume that right; First slaves to every tempting face, Then martyrs to our spite. You of one Orpheus sure have read, Who would like you have writ, Had he in London town been bred, And polish'd, too, his wit. But he, poor soul! thought all was well, And great should be his fame, When he had left his wife in hell, And birds and beasts could tame. Yet venturing then with scoffing rhymes, The women to incense, Resenting heroines of those times Soon punish'd his offence. And as the Hebrews roll'd his scull, And harp besmear'd with blood, They clashing as the waves grew full, Still harmonis'd the flood. But you our follies gently treat, And spin so fine the thread, You need not fear his awkward fate, The Lock won't cost the Head. Our admiration you command, For all that's gone before; What next we look for at your hand Can only raise it more. Yet, sooth, the ladies I advise (As me to pride has wrought), We're born to wit, but to be wise By admonitions taught. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERLIN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A SEA SONG by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM THE RIVER by RALPH WALDO EMERSON ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB by THOMAS GRAY WINTER SONG by LUDWIG HENRICH CHRISTOPH HOLTY ODE [ON THE POETS] by JOHN KEATS A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS by HERMAN MELVILLE I DO NOT LOVE THEE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON |