Classic Poem

Madam, before your feet I lay
This ode upon your wedding day,
The first indeed I ever made,
For writing odes is not my trade:
My head is full of household cares
And necessary dull affairs;
Besides that sometimes jealous frumps
Will put me into doleful dumps,
And then no clown beneath the sky
Was e'er more ungallant than I:
For you alone I now think fit
To turn a poet and a wit —
For you, whose charms I know not how
Have pow'r to smooth my wrinkled brow,
And make me tho' by nature stupid
As brisk and as alert as Cupid.
These obligations to repay,
Whene'er your happy nuptial day
Shall with the circling years return,
For you my torch shall brighter burn
Than when you first my pow'r ador'd,
Nor will I call myself your Lord,
But am (as witness this my hand)
Your humble servant at command.
Dear Child! let Hymen not beguile
You who are such a judge of style,
To think that he these verses made
Without an abler penman's aid;
Observe them well you 'll plainly see
That ev'ry line was writ by me.