’Tis not the sweet pleasure of this that can fill;
Oh, no, I want something more tangible still.
’Tis the money that’s useful in ev’ry career,
And the first fruit of authorship ever most dear;
And I wonder if ever my verse will improve
Till, no longer rejected, I gain what I love.
Good judge of our excellence, calm would I rest
If I thought you’d adjudge this endeavour the best;
When the guineas would come, my small store to increase,
And the coins in my pocket be jingled in peace.