In evil hour did Pope's declining age, Deceived and dazzled by the tinsel show Of wordy science and the nauseous flow Of mean, officious flatteries, engage Thy venal quill to deck his laboured page With ribald nonsense, and permit to strew Amidst his flowers, the baleful weeds that grow In the unblessed soil of rude and rancorous rage. Yet this the avenging muse ordainéd so, When, by his counsel or weak sufferance, To thee were trusted Shakespeare's fame and fate: She doomed him down the stream of time to tow Thy foul, dirt-loaded hulk, or sink perchance, Dragged to oblivion by the foundering weight. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON BEN JONSON [JOHNSON] by ROBERT HERRICK KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY by JOSIE R. HUNT THERE IS NO DEATH by JOHN LUCKEY MCCREERY TO HELEN (2) by EDGAR ALLAN POE TO DEATH OF HIS LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON |