Theology—fine arts—or finer stays,
May be the baits for Gentlemen or Lords
With regular descent, in these our days,
The last year to the new transfers its hoards;
New vestals claim men's eyes with the same praise
Of "elegant" et cætera, in fresh batches—
All matchless creatures—and yet bent on matches.
LIV.
But now I will begin my poem. 'Tis
Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new,