There will come a time, a time

In which my time-honoured duty is done, where

You shall be judged upon matters fine

Whether people consider you fair.

‘Tis unjust, when one reflects

But is for you the curse of your sex.

When this day comes, I cannot

Guide you on your way, just hope

That rather than look, ‘tis deed and thought

That maketh the hopeless boy sit and mope.