| |
| LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band | |
| That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, | |
| Were summoned by her high command | |
| To show their passions by their letters. | |
| |
| My pen amongst the rest I took, | 5 |
| Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, | |
| Should dart their kindling fires, and look | |
| The power they have to be obey’d. | |
| |
| Nor quality, nor reputation, | |
| Forbid me yet my flame to tell; | 10 |
| Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion, | |
| And I may write till she can spell. | |
| |
| For, while she makes her silkworm beds | |
| With all the tender things I swear; | |
| Whilst all the house my passion reads, | 15 |
| In papers round her baby’s hair; | |
| |
| She may receive and own my flame; | |
| For, though the strictest prudes should know it, | |
| She’ll pass for a most virtuous dame, | |
| And I for an unhappy poet. | 20 |
| |
| Then, too, alas! when she shall tear | |
| The rhymes some younger rival sends, | |
| She’ll give me leave to write, I fear, | |
| And we shall still continue friends. | |
| |
| For, as our different ages move, | 25 |
| ’Tis so ordain’d (would Fate but mend it!), | |
| That I shall be past making love | |
| When she begins to comprehend it. | |
| |
