Be not, I pray, too critically just,
Rather be mercy thine!
"Nor think on reading my despairing rhymes
That I am prone to sigh.
Poets, like children, weep and laugh at times,
Without scarce knowing why!
"Thoughts tend to heaven, mine are weak and faint.
Please help them up for me;
The sick and wounded bless you as a saint,
In this my patron be;