Can make innocuous the critic's curse,
Vain his attack, unfelt his shrewdest blow,
You read my verse.
You like the rhymes; think not their writer worse
If just one hint he cannot well forego,
The bard, to put it in a manner terse,
Does not exist on praise alone, you know,
And sympathy can hardly fill his purse;—
You borrow, and you do not buy, although
You read my verse!