Classic Poem

Acted at a boarding school by young ladies

How mad are we in so refin'd an age
To ape the tragic muse, and tread the stage!
But all that for this folly can be said
Is that we act for pleasure, not for bread.
We, for the while, disclaim our teacher's rule,
And to a theatre transform our school.
Our forms and benches rang'd commodiously
Serve us for pit and box and gallery;
Tap'stry supplies the place of painted scenes,
While we, imaginary kings and queens,
Strut in heroics, dizzen'd in attire
Compos'd of feathers, spangles, lace, and wire;
So, if we chance to fail, some recreation
You'll surely find in such a transformation.
But since we've none but friends assembl'd here,
Why should we tremble; what have we to fear?
If in our childish pastimes we should miss,
You have more manners, surely, than to hiss:
For what can you expect from such as we
But virgin blushes and simplicity?
Consider, we have none our cause to aid;
Our very Alexander is a maid.
Then on our youth some tender pity take,
And spare the action for the actors' sake.