And yet I can't help scribbling once a week,
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.
In Youth I wrote because my mind was full,
And now because I feel it growing dull.
XI.
But "why then publish?"[708]—There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the World grows weary.
I ask in turn,—Why do you play at cards?
Why drink? Why read?—To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards