I'm eager enough of my woes to be rid,
But Cupid needs help in the placing
Of shafts in a heart that's apparently hid
'Neath a tough pachydermatous casing.
I have mingled with maidens—the tender, the hard,
The coy and the clinging—in legions;
But none has contrived to inflict on the bard
A jolt in the cardiac regions;
Must I turn for assistance to science or art,
Or put my predicament meekly