My boy, you may take it from me, <br />That of all the afflictions accurst <br />With which a man's saddled <br />And hampered and addled, <br />A diffident nature's the worst. <br />Though clever as clever can be - <br />A Crichton of early romance - <br />You must stir it and stump it, <br />And blow your own trumpet, <br />Or, trust me, you haven't a chance. <br /> <br />Now take, for example, MY case: <br />I've a bright intellectual brain - <br />In all London city <br />There's no one so witty - <br />I've thought so again and again. <br />I've a highly intelligent face - <br />My features cannot be denied - <br />But, whatever I try, sir, <br />I fail in - and why, sir? <br />I'm modesty personified! <br /> <br />As a poet, I'm tender and quaint - <br />I've passion and fervour and grace - <br />From Ovid and Horace <br />To Swinburne and Morris, <br />They all of them take a back place. <br />Then I sing and I play and I paint; <br />Though none are accomplished as I, <br />To say so were treason: <br />You ask me the reason? <br />I'm diffident, modest, and shy!<br /><br />William Schwenck Gilbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/true-diffidence/
