Classic Poem

Since thou and the stars, my dear goddess, decree,
That Old Maid as I am, an Old Maid I must be,
O hear the petition I offer to thee —
For to bear it must be my endeavour:
From the grief of my friendships all dropping around,
Till not one whom I loved in my youth can be found —
From the legacy-hunters that near us abound,
Diana, thy servant deliver.

From the scorn of the young and the flaunts of the gay,
From all the trite ridicule rattled away
By the pert ones who know nothing wiser to say,
Or a spirit to laugh at them, give her:
From repining at fancied neglected desert,
Or, vain of a civil speech, bridling alert,
From finical niceness or slatternly dirt;
Diana, thy servant deliver.

From over solicitous guarding of pelf,
From humour unchecked — that most obstinate elf —
From every unsocial attention to self,
Or ridiculous whim whatsoever:
From the vapourish freaks or methodical airs,
Apt to sprout in a brain that's exempted from cares,
From impertinent meddling in others' affairs,
Diana, thy servant deliver.

From the erring attachments of desolate souls,
From the love of spadille, and of matadore voles,
Or of lap-dogs, and parrots, and monkies, and owls,
Be they ne'er so uncommon and clever:
But chief from the love (with all loveliness flown)
Which makes the dim eye condescend to look down
On some ape of a fop, or some owl of a clown, —
Diana, thy servant deliver.

From spleen at beholding the young more caressed,
From pettish asperity tartly expressed,
From scandal, detraction, and every such pest —
From all, thy true servant deliver:
Nor let satisfaction depart from her cot —
Let her sing, if at ease, and be patient, if not;
Be pleased when regarded, content where forgot,
Till the Fates her slight thread shall dissever.