William was once a bashful youth, <br />His modesty was such, <br />That one might say, to say the truth, <br />He rather had too much. <br /> <br />Some said that it was want of sense, <br />And others, want of spirit <br />(So blest a thing is impudence), <br />While others could not bear it. <br /> <br />But some a different notion had, <br />And, at each other winking, <br />Observed that though he little said, <br />He paid it off with thinking. <br /> <br />Howe’er, it happen’d, by degrees, <br />He mended, and grew perter, <br />In company was more at ease, <br />And dress’d a little smarter; <br /> <br />Nay, now and then, could look quite gay, <br />As other people do; <br />And sometimes said, or tried to say, <br />A witty thing or so. <br /> <br />He eyed the women, and made free <br />To comment on their shapes, <br />So that there was, or seem’d to be, <br />No fear of a relapse. <br /> <br />The women said, who thought him rough, <br />But now no longer foolish, <br />“The creature may do well enough, <br />But wants a deal of polish.” <br /> <br />At length improved from head to heel, <br />‘Twere scarce too much to say, <br />No dancing beau was so genteel <br />Or half so <br />dégagé. <br /> <br /> <br />Now that a miracle so strange <br />May not in vain be shown, <br />Let the dear maid who wrought the change <br />E’en claim him for her own!<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-addressed-to-miss-theodora-jane-cowper-on-himself/
