Rebus.

The wisest of monarchs yet weakest of men
With the chief who in vengeance wrapt Ilium in flame
The pride of the world & delight of the stage
Whose numbers delight both the simple & sage.
The country to freeman & Liberty giv'n
The first on the globe highly favor'd by heav'n
With the word ladies use, tho their bosoms cry Yes
When the man of their choice for their hands fondly press.

The tree whose curst fruit was the cause of our ruin
When Satan, our good Mother Eve came a wooing.
The period devoted to friendship & love
When naught but the nightingale gladdens the grove
That feeling ecstatic by Heav'n design'd
As its first & its greatest of gifts to mankind.
The prelude to marriage, when maidens so coy
Turn blushing away from the prospect of Joy
& lastly the writer whose poetic flight
Rose high as the stars in his descant on Night.