Thy verse is “sad” enough, no doubt:
  A devilish deal more sad than witty!
Why we should weep I can’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.