Classic Poem

Lector Benevole! — for so
They used to call you, years ago, —
I can't pretend to make you read
The pages that to this succeed;
Nor would I, if I could, excuse
The wayward promptings of the Muse,
At whose command I wrote them down.

I have no hope to " please the town."
I did but think some friendly soul
(Not ill-advised, upon the whole!)
Might like them; and — " to interpose
A little ease," — between the prose,
Slipped in the scraps of verse, that thus
Things might be less monotonous.

Then, Lector , be Benevolus!