Impromptu Lines, Upon Anacreon Moore's Saying That He Disliked Singing To Men.

By Beauty’s caresses, like Cupid, half-spoil’d, Thus Music’s and Poesy’s favourite child Exclaim’d,—“’Tis, by Heaven! a terrible thing Before a he-party to sit and to sing!” “By my shoul! Master Moore, you there may be right,” Said a son of green Erin; “tho’ dear to my sight Are all the sweet cratures, call’d women, I swear, Yet I think we can feel just as well as the fair: Tho’ you’d bribe us with songs, blood and ’ounds! let me say, I’d not be a woman for one in your way.”