What thunder shakes th' Athenian stage?
'Tis frantic Bromius bids me sing,
He tunes the pipe, he smites the string;
The Dryads with their chief accord,
Submit, and hail the drama's lord.
Be still! and let distraction cease,
Nor thus profane the Muse's peace;
By sacred fiat I preside,
The minstrel's master and his guide;
He, whilst the chorus strains proceed,