To

THE FIRST SATIRE.

I never did on cleft Parnassus dream, Nor taste the sacred Heliconian stream; Nor can remember when my brain, inspired, Was by the Muses into madness fired. My share in pale Pyrene I resign, And claim no part in all the mighty Nine. Statues, with winding ivy crowned, belong To nobler poets, for a nobler song; Heedless of verse, and hopeless of the crown, } Scarce half a wit, and more than half a clown, } Before the shrine I lay my rugged numbers down. } Who taught the parrot human notes to try, Or with a voice endued the chattering pye? 'Twas witty Want, fierce hunger to appease; Want taught their masters, and their masters these. Let gain, that gilded bait, be hung on high, The hungry witlings have it in their eye; Pyes, crows, and daws, poetic presents bring; You say they squeak, but they will swear they sing.