Excepting original sin.
“How very easy ’tis,” cries Tom, “to write!
I find ’t no hardship verses to indite.”
“To credit that,” quoth Dick, “no oaths we need:
The hardship is for those who have to read.”
Thy verses are eternal, O my friend!
For he who reads them, reads them to no end.
Unfortunate lady, how sad is your lot!
Your ringlets are red, and your poems are not.