Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/L'amende honorable
L'AMENDE HONORABLE.
Accept the thanks which my poor pen affords, For the perusal of your charming pages;From a sick bed they 'll needs be burning words, But fear them not, no baleful sickness rages.
Here, stretched at length,—I cannot say at ease,— Philosophizing over oatmeal-gruel,Like sick man in the fable, conscience sees Sins rise before me in array most cruel.
Confession, then, and reparation too, The genuine symptoms of sincere repentance,I offer, Sir, unfeignedly, to you! Sins against charity deserve this sentence.
Forgive me, Sir, if my poor thoughtless Muse In harsh, unfriendly censures seemed to deal;To pardon an offence you wont refuse, Which you, perchance, too sensitively feel.
And surely, Sir, a mind like yours, imbued With sweet philosophy's delightful lore,Could never by such weakness be subdued, The guise of which your playful history wore.
Nor could you, who so feelingly portray From nature's works the universal planOf kindness and benevolence, betray The trust poor woman must repose in man!