To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty

LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous bandThat wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,Were summoned by her high commandTo show their passions by their letters.

My pen amongst the rest I took,5Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read,Should dart their kindling fire, and lookThe power they have to be obey'd.

Nor quality, nor reputation,Forbid me yet my flame to tell;10Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion,And I may write till she can spell.

For, while she makes her silkworms bedsWith all the tender things I swear;Whilst all the house my passion reads,15In papers round her baby's hair;

She may receive and own my flame;For, though the strictest prudes should know it,She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,And I for an unhappy poet.20

Then too, alas! when she shall tearThe rhymes some younger rival sends,She'll give me leave to write, I fear,And we shall still continue friends.

For, as our different ages move,25'Tis so ordain'd (would Fate but mend it!),That I shall be past making loveWhen she begins to comprehend it.