The Muses quaffed not sparkling wine, but grog,
And that to grow immortal through one’s rhymes
Was ’bout as hard as falling off a log.
CONSOLATION
Shakespeare was not accounted great
When good Queen Bess ruled England’s state,
So why should I to-day repine
Because the laurel is not mine?
Perhaps in twenty-ninety-three
Folks will begin to talk of me,