For mighty wars I thought to tune my lute,And make my measures to my subject suit.Six feet for ev'ry verse the muse design'd,But Cupid laughing, when he saw my mind,From ev'ry second verse a foot purloin'd."Who gave thee, boy, this arbitrary sway,On subjects, not thy own, commands to lay,Who Phoebus only, and his laws obey ?'Tis more absurd, than if the queen of loveShould in Minerva's arms to battle move;Or manly Pallas from that queen should takeHer torch, and o'er the dying lover shake.In fields as well may Cynthia sow the corn,Or Ceres wind in woods the bugle-horn;As well may Phoebus quit the trembling string,For sword and shield; and Mars may learn to sing.Already thy dominions are too large;