 | May Fair |  |
Reader, hear my mystery,—
No dabbler with the Muses I;—
No rambler o er their hackney'd hill,
With all my rent-roll in my quill:
No brain-besieging monthly bore,
No working member of the corps,
I lounge along an easy life,
Untroubled with a muse or wife;
To all the wits I lightly yield
The glories of the paper field;
Not one among the diners out—
I neither mimic, sing, nor spout.
No dabbler with the Muses I;—
No rambler o er their hackney'd hill,
With all my rent-roll in my quill:
8
No working member of the corps,
I lounge along an easy life,
Untroubled with a muse or wife;
To all the wits I lightly yield
The glories of the paper field;
Not one among the diners out—
I neither mimic, sing, nor spout.
| May Fair | |