I beg your Scholar you'll excuse, <br />Who dares no more debase the Muse. <br />My Mother says, If e'er she hears, <br />I write again on worthless Peers, <br />Whether they're living Lords, or dead, <br />She'll box the Muse from out my Head. <br /> <br />Sir, let me have no more, she cry'd, <br />Of Panegyricks, ill apply'd: <br />For Praise, ill--plac'd, adds no more Grace, <br />Than Jewels to Samantha's Face; <br />Whose Lustre serves to let us see <br />Both Folly, and Deformity.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-apology-written-for-my-son-to-his-master/
