Classic Poem

Ainsi soit-il.

I'm gifted with prophetic eye,
Dear friends, and by mine art descry
What's promised to us by and by.
So be it!

Poets no more shall puffs indite;
The great shall fear the flatterer's sight;
No courtier swear that black is white
So be it!

Gamblers and usurers out of date;
No petty bankers lords so great;
Then clerks their rudeness shall abate
So be it!

Friendship her charm shall o'er us shed,
No more that formal thing and dead,
Of which misfortune snaps the thread
So be it!

The girl, a novice at fifteen,
In three years more with lovers seen,
Shall nothing worse than gossip mean.
So be it!

Then Woman shall avoid display
In dress; then, too, a husband may
In safety be a week away.
So be it!

Writers shall show in all that's writ,
Of genius more, and less of wit;
Nor jargon puerile admit.
So be it!

Authors of more exalted mind,
Actors less foppish shall we find;
The very critic shall be kind
So be it!

If great men and their pimps do ill,
We'll jest and rhyme upon them still,
Nor visit fear of alguazil.
So be it!

Now Taste in France renews her reign;
Justice o'er-rules the whole domain;
And exiled Truth returns again.
So be it!

Then, friends, thank God, who all things here,
Gives us in season — in the year
Three thousand shall these things appear.
So be it!