The Beetle (1)

For a fable a subject I have,
Which would do very well,--but for rhymes
To-day my muse is too grave;

As she always will be at odd times--
And the topic for somebody stands,
Whose fancy more cheerily chimes.

For this writing of fables demands
That in verse our ideas should flow;
Which not always are matched to our hands,

A Beetle contemptible, now,
Of said fable the hero I choose;--
For I want one paltry and low.

Of this insect, every one knows
That--although from no filth he refrains--
He will ne'er eat the leaf of a rose.

Here the author should lavish his pains,
While, as well as his talents allow,
This astonishing taste he explains.

To wind up the whole, let him show,
By a sentence pithy and terse,
Just what he could have us to know.

And so let him trick out his verse,
With adornments according to taste;
But this moral conclusive rehearse;

That, as the flowers' beautiful queen
With no coarse, filthy beetle agrees;
So, some tasteless writers no keen
Or delicate fancy can please.