I Never Poem by Christopher Anstey

I ne'er (tho' fame applaud me to my wrong)
Stood forth the champion of Heroic Song;
Or once have felt (so Heav'n direct my ways)
The conscious pang of self--condemning praise;
Tho' but with ivy deck'd, without a frown
I can behold another's laurel crown:
Unfit for me; who from the secret shade
Ne'er to the throne my humble Muse convey'd,
Ne'er dar'd at Majesty my jest to aim
Or sport familiar with his sacred name.

O no !--could I the fragrant garland twine
Of sweetest flow'rs that bloom round Virtue's shrine,
To deck the Husband, Father, and the Man,
Who lives and governs on the Christian plan,
Pleas'd with mild arts his empire to improve,
Blest in his dear and virtuous Consort's love,
Who 'mid the toils of state his hours employs
On ten sweet pledges of connubial joys,
And gives to me (who equal numbers share)
A bright example of paternal care;
Then would I raise my feeble voice to sing
My good, my honour'd, and my gracious King.