Sick at the news, impatient for my lord,
I'm forc'd to hear, nay smile at ev'ry word.
raps at last, — "His lordship begs to know
Your name? your bus'ness?" — Sir, I'm not a foe.
I come to charm his lordship's list'ning ears
With verses, soft as music of the spheres.
"Verses! — Alas! his lordship seldom reads:
Pedants indeed with learning stuff their heads;
But my good lord, as all the world can tell,
Reads not ev'n tradesmen's bills, and scorns to spell.
But trust your lays with me. Some things I'veread,
Was born a poet, tho' no poet bred:
And if I find they'll bear my nicer view,
I'll recommend your poetry — and you."