Ours more surprising than his Tyrian dress,
And Ovid's mistress, in her loose attire,
Would cease to charm his eyes or fan Love's fire.
Were he at Bath, and had these coats in view,
He'd write his Metamorphosis anew,
Delia, fresh hooped, would o'er his heart prevail,
To leave Corinna and her tawdry veil.
Hear, great Apollo! and my genius guide,
To sing this glorious miracle of pride,
Nor yet disdain the subject for its name,