Noise, scandal, and malicious thought. 
These Jove put in an old close-stool,
And with them mix’d the vain, the fool. 
  But now came on his greatest care,
Of what he should his paste prepare;
For common clay or finer mould
Was much too good, such stuff to hold. 
At last he wisely thought on mud;
So raised it up, and call’d it—­Cludd.
With this, the lady well content,
Low curtsey’d, and away she went.

APOLLO OUTWITTED

TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. FINCH,[1] UNDER HER NAME OF ARDELIA

Phoebus, now short’ning every shade,
  Up to the northern tropic came,
And thence beheld a lovely maid,
  Attending on a royal dame.

The god laid down his feeble rays,
  Then lighted from his glitt’ring coach;
But fenc’d his head with his own bays,
  Before he durst the nymph approach.

Under those sacred leaves, secure
  From common lightning of the skies,
He fondly thought he might endure
  The flashes of Ardelia’s eyes.

The nymph, who oft had read in books
  Of that bright god whom bards invoke,
Soon knew Apollo by his looks,
  And guess’d his business ere he spoke.

He, in the old celestial cant,
  Confess’d his flame, and swore by Styx,
Whate’er she would desire, to grant—­
  But wise Ardelia knew his tricks.

Ovid had warn’d her to beware
  Of strolling gods, whose usual trade is,
Under pretence of taking air,
  To pick up sublunary ladies.

Howe’er, she gave no flat denial,
  As having malice in her heart;
And was resolv’d upon a trial,
  To cheat the god in his own art.

“Hear my request,” the virgin said;
  “Let which I please of all the Nine
Attend, whene’er I want their aid,
  Obey my call, and only mine.”

By vow oblig’d, by passion led,
  The god could not refuse her prayer: 
He way’d his wreath thrice o’er her head,
  Thrice mutter’d something to the air.

And now he thought to seize his due;
  But she the charm already try’d: 
Thalia heard the call, and flew
  To wait at bright Ardelia’s side.

On sight of this celestial prude,
  Apollo thought it vain to stay;
Nor in her presence durst be rude,
  But made his leg and went away.

He hop’d to find some lucky hour,
  When on their queen the Muses wait;
But Pallas owns Ardelia’s power: 
  For vows divine are kept by Fate.

Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke: 
  “Deceitful nymph!  I see thy art;
And, though I can’t my gift revoke,
  I’ll disappoint its nobler part.

“Let stubborn pride possess thee long,
  And be thou negligent of fame;
With ev’ry Muse to grace thy song,
  May’st thou despise a poet’s name!

“Of modest poets be thou first;
  To silent shades repeat thy verse,
Till Fame and Echo almost burst,
  Yet hardly dare one line rehearse.