Charles Lamb (1775–1834)

YOU are not, Kelly, of the common strain,

That stoop their pride and female honor down

To please that many-headed beast, The Town,

And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for gain;

By fortune thrown amid the actor’s train,

You keep your native dignity of thought;

The plaudits that attend you come unsought,

As tributes due unto your natural vein.

Your tears have passion in them, and a grace

Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow;

Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace,

That vanish and return we know not how,—

And please the better from a pensive face,

A thoughtful eye, and a reflecting brow.