TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET

Thy verse is “sad” enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty! Why we should weep I can n't find out, Unless for thee we weep in pity.

Yet there is one I pity more; And much, alas! I think he needs it: For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.

Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic, May once be read — but never after: Yet their effect's by no means tragic, Although by far too dull for laughter.

But would you make our bosoms bleed, And of no common pang complain — If you would make us weep indeed, Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.