Classic Poem

Peruse my leaves through every part,
And think thou seest my owner's heart;
Scrawled o'er with trifles thus; and quite
As hard, as senseless, and as light:
Exposed to every coxcomb's eyes,
But hid with caution from the wise.
Here may you read, 'Dear charming saint',
Beneath 'A new receipt for paint.'
Here, in beau-spelling, 'tru tel death.'
There, in her own, 'far an el breath.'
Here, 'lovely nymph pronounce my doom.'
There, 'a safe way to use perfume.'
Here, a page filled with billet-doux;
On t'other side, 'laid out for shoes.
(Madam, I die without your Grace.)
Item, for half a yard of lace.'
Who that had wit would place it here,
For every peeping fop to jeer?
In power of spittle and a clout,
Whene'er he please, to blot it out;
And then to heighten the disgrace,
Clap his own nonsense in the place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his part
In such a book, and such a heart,
If he be wealthy, and a fool,
Is in all points the fittest tool;
Of whom it may be justly said,
He's a gold pencil tipped with lead.