PARODY ON “MY TIME, OH YE MUSES.”

By George Crabbe

My days, oh ye lovers, were happily sped

Ere you or your whimsies got into my head;

I could laugh, I could sing, I could trifle and jest,

And my heart play'd a regular tune in my breast.

But now, lack-a-day! what a change for the worse,

‘ Tis as heavy as lead, yet as wild as a horse.

My fingers, ere love had tormented my mind,

Could guide my pen gently to what I design'd.

I could make an enigma, a rebus, or riddle,

Or tell a short tale of a dog and a fiddle.

But, since this vile Cupid has got in my brain,

I beg of the gods to assist in my strain.

And whatever my subject, the fancy still roves,

And sings of hearts, raptures, flames, sorrows, and loves.