O lovelier than the lovely dameThat bore you, sentence as you pleaseThose scurril verses, be it flameYour vengeance craves, or Hadrian seas.Not Cybele, nor he that hauntsRich Pytho, worse the brain confounds,Not Bacchus, nor the CorybantsClash their loud gongs with fiercer soundsThan savage wrath; nor sword nor spearAppals it, no, nor ocean's frown,Nor ravening fire, nor Jupiter In hideous ruin crashing down.Prometheus, forced, they say, to addTo his prime clay some favourite partFrom every kind, took lion mad,And lodged its gall in man's poor heart.