I am not ambitious at all:
⁠I am not a poet, I know
(Though I do love to see a mere scrawl
⁠To order and symmetry grow).
⁠My muse is uncertain and slow,
I am not expert with my tools,
⁠I lack the poetic argot:
But I hope I have kept to the rules.

When your brain is undoubtedly small,
⁠'Tis hard, sir, to write in a row,
Some five or six rhymes to Nepaul,
⁠And more than a dozen to Joe:
⁠The metre is easier though,
Three rhymes are sufficient for 'ghouls,'
⁠My lines are deficient in go,
But I hope I have kept to the rules.

Unable to fly let me crawl,
⁠Your patronage kindly bestow:
I am not the author of Saul,
⁠I am not Voltaire or Rousseau:
⁠I am not desirous, oh no!
To rise from the ranks of the fools,
⁠To shine with Gosse, Dobson and Co.
But I hope I have kept to the rules.

Dear Sir, though my language is low,
⁠Let me dip in Pierian pools:
My verses are only so so,
⁠But I hope I have kept to the rules.