On Fame

I.

Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,

But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;

She is a Gipsey,--will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her;

A Jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close,
Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her;

Make your best bow to her and bid adieu,
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.