'And live there men, who slight immortal Fame? Who then with incense shall adore our name? But, mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. Rise, Muses, rise! add all your tuneful breath; 370 These must not sleep in darkness and in death.' She said: in air the trembling music floats, And on the winds triumphant swell the notes; So soft, though high, so loud, and yet so clear, Even listening angels lean'd from heaven to hear: To furthest shores the ambrosial spirit flies, Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies. Next these a youthful train their vows express'd, With feathers crown'd, with gay embroidery dress'd: 'Hither' (they cried) 'direct your eyes, and see 380 The men of pleasure, dress, and gallantry; Ours is the place at banquets, balls, and plays, Sprightly our nights, polite are all our days; Courts we frequent, where 'tis our pleasing care To pay due visits, and address the fair: In fact, 'tis true, no nymph we could persuade, But still in fancy vanquish'd every maid; Of unknown duchesses lewd tales we tell, Yet, would the world believe us, all were well. The joy let others have, and we the name, 390 And what we want in pleasure, grant in fame.' The Queen assents, the trumpet rends the skies, And at each blast a lady's honour dies. Pleased with the strange success, vast numbers press'd Around the shrine, and made the same request: 'What! you,' (she cried) 'unlearn'd in arts to please, Slaves to yourselves, and even fatigued with ease, Who lose a length of undeserving days, Would you usurp the lover's dear-bought praise? To just contempt, ye vain pretenders, fall, 400 The people's fable and the scorn of all.' Straight the black clarion sends a horrid sound, Loud laughs burst out, and bitter scoffs fly round, Whispers are heard, with taunts reviling loud, And scornful hisses run through all the crowd. Last, those who boast of mighty mischiefs done, Enslave their country, or usurp a throne; Or who their glory's dire foundation laid On sovereigns ruin'd, or on friends betray'd; Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, 410 Of crooked counsels, and dark politics; Of these a gloomy tribe surround the throne, And beg to make the immortal treasons known. The trumpet roars, long flaky flames expire, With sparks, that seem'd to set the world on fire. At the dread sound, pale mortals stood aghast, And startled Nature trembled with the blast.