Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir’d

[ZaunköniG]

Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir’d
Of Votaries, who for trite ideas thrown
Into loose verse, assume, in lofty tone,
The Poet’s name, untaught, and uninspir’d,
Indignant struck the Lyre.—Straight it acquir’d
New powers, and complicate. Then first was known
The rigorous Sonnet, to be fram’d alone
By duteous Bards, or by just Taste admir’d.—
Go, energetic Sonnet, go, he cried,
And be the test of skill!—For rhymes that flow
Regardless of thy rules, their destin’d guide,
Yet take thy name, ah! Let the boasters know
That with strict sway my jealous laws preside,
While I no wreaths on rebel verse bestow.