The Dean's Answer (A Rebus by Vanessa)

The nymph who wrote this in an amorous fit,     I cannot but envy the pride of her wit,     Which thus she will venture profusely to throw     On so mean a design, and a subject so low.     For mean's her design, and her subject as mean,     The first but a rebus, the last but a dean.     A dean's but a parson: and what is a rebus?     A thing never known to the Muses or Phoebus.     The corruption of verse; for, when all is done,     It is but a paraphrase made on a pun.     But a genius like hers no subject can stifle,     It shows and discovers itself through a trifle.     By reading this trifle, I quickly began     To find her a great wit, but the dean a small man.     Rich ladies will furnish their garrets with stuff,     Which others for mantuas would think fine enough:     So the wit that is lavishly thrown away here,     Might furnish a second-rate poet a year.     Thus much for the verse, we proceed to the next,     Where the nymph has entirely forsaken her text:     Her fine panegyrics are quite out of season:     And what she describes to be merit, is treason:     The changes which faction has made in the state,     Have put the dean's politics quite out of date:     Now no one regards what he utters with freedom,     And, should he write pamphlets, no great man would read 'em;     And, should want or desert stand in need of his aid,     This racer would prove but a dull founder'd jade.