Upon a time, and in a place, <br />With Pan Apollo playd, <br />Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case, <br />And Pan ye Victour made. <br />The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew; <br />Whilst on ye silver wing <br />Sweet Phœbus for Parnassus flew <br />To hear his Homer sing. <br />Yet ere he went to Midas said, <br />Ile fitt you for your Jears, <br />So took two leaves from off his head, <br />And stuck them in his ears. <br />Tis hence he thinks the bays his own, <br />And hence it comes to pass <br />That as we think his ears are grown <br />We sooner find the Ass.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-certain-poets-judgement-between-mr-pope-mr-philips-don-in-an-italian-air/
