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The National Music of America. 171
My Thunder, no fear on't Will soon do its Errand,
And dam'me, I'll swinge the Ringleaders, I warÂrant, I'll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to twine The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.' (Chorus.)
" Apollo rose up and said * Pr'ythee ne'er quarrell, Good King of the Gods, with my Vot'ries below; Your Thunder is useless,' then, showing his
Laurel, Cry'd 'Sic Evitabile Fulmen, you know. Then over each Head My Laurels I'll spread So my Sons from your Crackers no Mischief shall
dread. Whilst snug in their Club Room, they jovially
twine The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.' (Chorus.)
" Next Momus got up with his risible Pniz, And swore with Apollo he'd chearfully join, ' The full tide of Harmony still shall be his, But the Song, and the Catch, and the Laugh, shall
be mine. Then Jove be not jealous Of these honest fellows.' |
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