’Tis true he lightly sketched the bold design,
But toils more joyless, more severe are mine;
Since o’er that scene his genius swiftly ran,
Subservient only to a nobler plan:
But I, perplexed in labyrinths of art,
Anatomize, and blazon every part;
Attempt with plaintive numbers to display,
And chain th’ events in regular array;
Though hard the task to sing in varied strains,
When still unchanged the same sad theme remains;