Methinks, old friend, 'tis wond'rous true,
That verse is but a game at
While many a bard, that shews so clearly
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to study, fret, and toil,
And play for nothing all the while;
Or praise at most (for wreaths of yore
Ne'er signify a farthing more:)
Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He sees your flying pen obtain it.