The chosen Muse here ends her sacred lays; The nymphs unanimous decree the bays, And give the Heliconian Goddesses the praise. Then, far from vain that we shou'd thus prevail, But much provok'd to hear the vanquish'd rail, Calliope resumes: Too long we've born Your daring taunts, and your affronting scorn; Your challenge justly merited a curse, And this unmanner'd railing makes it worse. Since you refuse us calmly to enjoy Our patience, next our passions we'll employ; The dictates of a mind enrag'd pursue, And, what our just resentment bids us, do. The railers laugh, our threats and wrath despise, And clap their hands, and make a scolding noise: But in the fact they're seiz'd; beneath their nails Feathers they feel, and on their faces scales; Their horny beaks at once each other scare, Their arms are plum'd, and on their backs they bear Py'd wings, and flutter in the fleeting air. Chatt'ring, the scandal of the woods they fly, And there continue still their clam'rous cry: The same their eloquence, as maids, or birds, Now only noise, and nothing then but words.