YES — every hopeful son of rhyme
Will surely seize this happy time,
Vault upon Pegasus's back,
Now grown an academic hack,
And sing the beauties of a Queen,
(Whom, by the by, he has not seen)
Will swear her eyes are black as jet,
Her teeth in pearls as coral set,
Will tell us that the rose has lent
Her cheek its bloom, her lips its scent,
That Philomel breaks off her song,
And listens to her sweeter tongue;
That Venus and the Graces join'd
To form this Phoenix of her kind,
And Pallas undertook to store
Her mind with Wisdom's chiefest lore;
Thus form'd, Jove issues a decree
That George's consort she shall be:
Then Cupid (for what match is made
By poets without Cupid's aid?)
Picks out the swiftest of his darts,
And pierces instant both their hearts.