I confess to plagiarizing Sonnet 29! I have repented just this once! I have sent a check to Mr. William Shakespeare/Shaxpeer/Shakspere/et. al. for one florin two groat quarter farthing to pay for all past, present, and future misconstructions and constructions of any of his works, in whole or in part.

But I have digressed, and must state

The Mighty Mother, and her son¹ who brings        
The Smithfield Muses to the ear of Kings,        
I sing. Say you, her instruments the great!        
Call'd to this work by Dullness, Jove, and Fate;        
You by whose care, in vain decried and curst,              
Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first;        
Say how the Goddess bade dear MOAB sleep,        
And pour'd her Spirit, o'er the land and deep.        
In eldest time, ere mortals writ or read,        
Ere Pallas issued from the Thund'rer's head,              
Dullness o'er all possess'd her ancient right,        
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:        
Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,        
Gross as her sire, and as her mother grave;        
Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,              
She ruled, in native anarchy, the mind.        
Still her old empire to restore she tries,        
For, born a Goddess, Dullness never dies.

¹ The present humble wordsmith.