He wrought to shape his fanciful sublime,
Flouting each proud Mæcenas of the time,
And shoving all the dunces from their stools.
And you'd deny him greatness? Would to-day
Your acrobatic bards could fill his place!
He lacked variety? But who can sway
More forceful measures in a narrow place?
Yield him, O Fame, brightest three-leaved bay.
Mind, manners, men, the Horace of his race!