Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/The wager
THE WAGER,
IN ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE FROM A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, IN WHICH EACH WAS TO WRITE TWENTY LINES OF POETRY, WHICH WAS TO BE SUBMITTED TO THE JUDGMENT OF FRIENDS.
A minstrel wreath I 'm called to twine,—Come, aid me, all ye sisters nine!— I 've twenty lines to write;A rival holds a tempting prize,And my poetic power defies,— Come, gird thee for the fight!
No mean opponent hast thou found,To meet thee on Parnassian ground; Shouldst thou the laurel gain, And this fair company decreeThe meed of victory to thee, Thou may'st be justly vain.
At friendship's call thou oft hast waked,—Here glory, honor, fame, are staked,— Come, lady Muse, defend me!Be thou my sword, be thou my shield;The knight must to the lady yield If thou wilt but befriend me.
Yet, should the wished-for prize be mine,Or this just court award it thine, Yet when the contest ends,Though poets seldom can agree,The world at least one proof shall see, That rivals may be friends.