Classic Poem

The Saints of Scotland hold it meet
That sinners for some choice transgressions
Should stand, in penitential sheet
At the Kirk-door, and make confessions.

So I, between these sheets — once white,
For rhyming in my youth must stand,
No other reason, wrong or right,
But a most orthodox command.

Gray Journals, by my sad fate,
Take warning, and avoid this place,
See, what men come to, soon or late,
By flirting with a Muse — or Grace.

Yet since from this " apparent shame"
There's no escape by prayer or tear;
Georgie at least shall share the blame,
I'll tell for spite, who brought me here!