O Sue! you certainly have been
A little raking, roguish creature,
And in that face may still be seen
Each laughing love's bewitching feature!
For thou hast stolen many a heart;
And robb'd the sweetness of the rose;
Placed on that cheek, it doth impart
More lovely tints—more fragrant blows!
Yes, thou art Nature's favourite child,
Array'd in smiles, seducing, killing;
Did Joseph live, you'd drive him wild,
And set his very soul a-thrilling!
A poet, much too poor to live,
Too poor in this rich world to rove;
Too poor for aught but verse to give,
But not, thank God, too poor to love!
Gives thee his little doggerel lay;—One
truth I tell, in sorrow tell it:
I'm forced to give my verse away,
Because, alas! I cannot sell it.
And should you with a critic's eye
Proclaim me 'gainst the Muse a sinner,
Reflect, dear girl I that such as I,
Six times a-week don't get a dinner.
And want of comfort, food, and wine,
Will damp the genius, curb the spirit:
These wants I'll own are often mine;—But
can't allow a want of merit.
For every stupid dog that drinks
At poet's pond, nicknamed divine;
Say what he will, I know he thinks
That all he writes is wondrous fine!