WRITTEN IN THE FIRST LEAF OF A CHILD’S MEMORANDUM BOOK

My neat and pretty book, when I thy small lines see, They seem for any use to be unfit for me: My writing, all misshaped, uneven as my mind, Within this narrow space can hardly be confined. Yet I will strive to make my hand less awkward look; I would not willingly disgrace thee, my neat book! The finest pens I’ll use, and wondrous pains I’ll take, And I these perfect lines my monitors will make. And every day I will set down in order due How that day wasted is; and should there be a few At the year’s end that show more goodly to the sight, If haply here I find some days not wasted quite, If a small portion of them I have pass’d aright, Then shall I think the year not wholly was misspent, And that my Diary has been by some good angel sent.