by John Cunningham
S HELTER'D from the bright ambition,
Fatal to the pride of rank,
See me in my low condition,
Laughing on the tufted bank.
On my robes (for emulation)
No variety's imprest:
Suited to an humble station,
Mine's an unembroider'd vest.
Modest though the maids declare me,
May in her fantastic train,
When Pastora deigns to wear me,
Ha n't a flow'ret half so vain.
- Share this Poem:
Last updated January 14, 2019