Classic Poem

Sure never instruction, design'd for one's use,
So gently ere came, in the shape of excuse!
Truth's never so sure when she raises her batt'ry,
As when she lies hid in the ambush of Flatt'ry;
For Truth, even Truth, may take lessons from Art,
And polish those weapons she sends to the heart.
But L UCIUS ! how cou'dst thou expect her to change
What Nature has form'd, so perverse and so strange?
In war the most skilful commander may shine,
But here, hadst thou conquer'd, the triumph were mine.
Does it lessen my error, or heighten my shame,
If I own I shou'd mend, and continue the same!
This honest confession must bring my own sentence,
A Spinster deserted, and fruitless repentance!

Ah me! in that day when no young men encroach,
And the old, even old, are afraid to approach,
Thy gentle advice shall reflection bestow,
And soften the face it ne'er caus'd me to shew;
And when Scandal, and Friendship, and Cards are resign'd,
I will leave this said Cap for the good of Mankind.