 | The Distressed Poet |  |
Celestial Maids! as 'tis from You
I'm taught my Errors past to rue,
As you've this fiery Trial sent
To make me a true Penitent;
Since your Confederates, as appears,
Have shook my House about my ears,
Nor yet, to solace my disaster,
Left me one inch—of sticking Plaister,
Since you by Law have drain'd my purse,
And brought me back from Prose to Verse,
Give, in return, your Inspiration,
To turn the balance 'gainst Vexation;
Let my Good-humour still remain,
To prove her shafts were shot in vain;
By You enabled thus, I still
May write,—to pay—my Lawyer's Bill.
I'm taught my Errors past to rue,
As you've this fiery Trial sent
To make me a true Penitent;
Since your Confederates, as appears,
Have shook my House about my ears,
75
Left me one inch—of sticking Plaister,
Since you by Law have drain'd my purse,
And brought me back from Prose to Verse,
Give, in return, your Inspiration,
To turn the balance 'gainst Vexation;
Let my Good-humour still remain,
To prove her shafts were shot in vain;
By You enabled thus, I still
May write,—to pay—my Lawyer's Bill.
| The Distressed Poet | |