Lines Written in a Young Lady’s Album.

A pretty task, Miss S— — to ask

A Benedictine pen,

That cannot quite at freedom write

Like those of other men.

No lover’s plaint my muse must paint

To fill this page’s span,

But be correct and recollect

I’m not a single man.

Pray only think, for pen and ink

How hard to get along,

That may not turn on words that burn

Or Love, the life of song!

Nine Muses, if I chooses, I

May woo all in a clan,

But one Miss S—— I daren’t address —

I’m not a single man.

Scribblers unwed, with little head

May eke it out with heart,

And in their lays it often plays

A rare first-fiddle part.

They make a kiss to rhyme with bliss,

But if I so began,

I have my fears about my ears —

I’m not a single man.
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