My pen may gain thy Lordship’s solacy.
* * * * *
Being train’d to disappointment, trust me, lord,
I lie not down; but steadfast to my word,
Shall persevere with all my heart and soul;
Shall still dip pens into the inken-bowl;
Shall strive to write my F (two) o o (and) t,
And trust they’ll grace a book of poetry,—
If not of merit such as Wits admire,
I must expect their silence, or satire: