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With Gen'rous Rage inflames th' aspiring Muse,And warns her Now a loftier Theme to chuse:The God prescribes the Object of my Praise,And what the God directs, the Bard obeys.
Begin my Muse, and sing in Epick StrainThe Petticoat; (nor shalt thou sing in vain,The Petticoat will sure reward thy Pain!)Proceed its various Beauties to display,And set its Circling Charms in full Array;Say whence its wond'rous Origin it drew,Then spread the Wide-stretch'd Petticoat to view:Not that which is by Rural Damsels worn,Not that which Modern Milk-Maids does adorn;These may be Grasp'd by ev'ry Grubstreet Muse,But mine, through nobler Paths, a nobler End pursues.
Rais'd