Egotism. A Letter to J. T. Becher

If Fate should seal my Death to-morrow,
      (Though much I hope she will postpone it,)
I’ve held a share of Joy and Sorrow,
      Enough for Ten; and here I own it.

I’ve lived as many other men live,
      And yet, I think, with more enjoyment;
For could I through my days again live,
      I’d pass them in the same employment.

That is to say, with some exception,
      For though I will not make confession,
I’ve seen too much of man’s deception
      Ever again to trust profession.

Some sage Mammas with gesture haughty,
      Pronounce me quite a youthful Sinner—
But Daughters say, “although he’s naughty,
      You must not check a Young Beginner!“

I’ve loved, and many damsels know it—
      But whom I don’t intend to mention,
As certain stanzas also show it,
      Some say deserving Reprehension.

Some ancient Dames, of virtue fiery,
      (Unless Report does much belie them,)
Have lately made a sharp Enquiry,
      And much it grieves me to deny them.

Two whom I lov’d had eyes of Blue,
      To which I hope you’ve no objection;
The Rest had eyes of darker Hue—
      Each Nymph, of course, was all perfection,

But here I’ll close my chaste Description,
      Nor say the deeds of animosity;
For silence is the best prescription,
      To physic idle curiosity.

Of Friends I’ve known a goodly Hundred—
      For finding one in each acquaintance,
By some deceived by others plunder’d,
      Friendship, to me, was not Repentance.

At School I thought like other Children;
      Instead of Brains, a fine Ingredient,
Romance, my youthful Head bewildering,
      To Sense had made me disobedient.

A victim, nearly from affection,
      To certain very precious scheming,
The still remaining recollection
      Has cured my boyish soul of Dreaming.

By Heaven! I rather would forswear
      The Earth, and all the joys reserved me,
Than dare again the specious Snare,
      From which my Fate and Heaven preserved me.

Still I possess some Friends who love me—
      In each a much esteemed and true one;
The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me
      To quit their Friendship, for a new one.

But Becher! you’re a reverend pastor,
      Now take it in consideration,
Whether for penance I should fast, or
      Pray for my sins in expiation.

I own myself the child of Folly,
      But not so wicked as they make me—
I soon must die of melancholy,
      If Female smiles should e’er forsake me.

Philosophers have never doubted,
      That Ladies’ Lips were made for kisses!
For Love! I could not live without it,
      For such a cursed place as This is.

Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven!
      If you don’t warrant my salvation,
I must resign all Hopes of Heaven!
      For, Faith, I can’t withstand Temptation.