Virtue to Verse immortal Lustre gives,
Each by the other's mutual Friendship lives;
suffer'd, and  fought,
The Heroes acts enlarg'd the Poets thought,
Or  Majesty, and  Rage
Had ne're like lasting Nature vanquish'd Age;
Whilst  then his rising Terrour drowns
With Drums Alarms and Trumpets Sounds,
Whilst hid in arm'd Retreats and guarded Towns,
From Danger as from Honour far,
He bribes close Murder against open War:
In vain you  Muses strive
With labour'd Verse to keep his Fame alive,
Your mouldring Monuments in vain ye raise
On the weak Basis of the Tyrants Praise:
Your Songs are sold, your Numbers are Prophane,
'Tis Incense to an Idol given,
Meat offer'd to Man,
That had no Soul from Heaven.
Against his Will you chain your frighted King
On rapid  divided Bed;
And Mock your Heroe, whilst ye Sing
The Wounds for which he never bled;
Falshood does poyson on your Praise defuse,
And  fear gives Death to  Muse.