Classic Poem

Implored for verse, I send you what I can;
But you are so exact a Frenchwoman,
As I am told, Jemima, that I fear
To wound with English your Parisian ear,
And think I do your choice collection wrong
With lines not written in the Frenchman's tongue.
Had I a knowledge equal to my will,
With airy Chansons I your leaves would fill;
With Fabliaux , that should emulate the vein
Of sprightly Gresset, or of La Fontaine;
Or Scenes Comiques , that should approach the air
Of your own favourite — renowned Moliere.
But at my suit the Muse of France looks sour,
And strikes me dumb! Yet, what is in my power
To testify respect for you, I pray,
Take in plain English — our rough Enfield way.