LECTOR Benevole! -- for so They used to call you, years ago, -- I can't pretend to make you read The pages that to this succeed; Nor would I, if I could, excuse The wayward promptings of the Muse, At whose command I wrote them down. I have no hope to 'please the town.' I did but think some friendly soul (Not ill-advised, upon the whole!) Might like them; and -- 'to interpose A little ease,' -- between the prose, Slipped in the scraps of verse, that thus Things might be less monotonous. Then, Lector, be Benevolus! |