Taking one consideration with another,
The Poet’s life is not a happy one.
Oh, she’d love to make a salad or a fritter,
Or even polish up the parlor grate;
Yet they must suppose she is a helpless critter,
For they bind her to her melancholy fate.
They make her pump out verses, when she’d ruther
Turn out a pie, a pudding, or a bun;
Taking one consideration with another,
The Poet’s life is not a happy one.