To a Young Gentleman

Dear boy, when you meet with a rose,Admire you the thorns very much?Or like you to play with a ball,When the handling it blisters your touch!

Yet should it be firm and compact,It is easy to polish it nice;If the rose is both pretty and sweet,The thorns will come oft in a trice.

The thistle has still many more,As visible too in our eyes,But who will take pains with a weed,That nobody ever can prize?

'Tis what we deem precious and rare,We most earnestly seek to amend;And anxious attention and care,Is the costliest gift of a friend.

We all have our follies: what then?Let us note them, and never look bluff!Without any caressing at all,They will cling to us closely enough.

Weeds are of such obstinate growth,They elude the most diligent hand;And, if they were not to be check'd,Would quickly run over the land.

If some could be taken away,That hide part of your worth from the view;The conquest perhaps would be ours,But the profit is wholly to you.