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.