Page:A poetic survey round Birmingham - James Bisset - 1800.pdf/7



ELIEVE me, I think, some Apology's due, Of course, Candid Reader, I'll make one to you, Tho' Critics may cavil, for ever and ever, I dread not their frown, nor solicit their favor.

Then, as for my rhyming—in sooth, you must know it, I never pretended to be a great poet, I write not for bread, and care little for pelf, But scribble, to please my good Friends and myself.

Too partial, perhaps, to my Writings, of late, They urg'd me to publish—The 's Fate; I did as they wish'd, and the constant demand For the poor little Boy, whom all took by the hand, So flatter'd my hopes, that, to mend his condition, I publish'd a Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Edition.

But, believe me, I am not so fond of the treasure I gain by the work, as the ultimate pleasure It gives me to find, both the high and the low With sympathy melt, with compasion o'erflow; And children, with sweet pearly drops in each eye, Lament, whilst they read, his hard fate with a sigh.