  His Friend complains of Prose that would never THRICE foolish I that, to portray For you apart my heart and mind, Bid foolish Prose the gift convey— No thrall of mine and proved unkind— Who flung both heart and mind away. He never did my hests with joy On deftest feet with fleetness shod, But lagged in byways o'er some toy More meet for babyhood. A rod Reward my graceless errand boy! On many a fair suit swiftly sent He still hath stayed nor weighed the cost, Reluctant to your door he bent, The string of my thoughts' parcel lost And gone the gist of mine intent. Wherefore that ruffian lad I curse, For 'tis his guilt hath spilt my sense, For you, lest you should take for worse His lack of wit, this evidence Of my regard I send by Verse. |
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