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 Alas! he from that hour ne'er smiled again, But took to drink and evil ways—such woe it Caused him when branded with that mark of Cain 'A Minor Poet.'

Call me a scribbler of the lowest class, Say that in merest commonplace I revel, Insinuate that I'm an utter ass, Unable e'en to reach bard Tapper's level; But spare, oh! spare me one last crowning jeer— Say I'm but fit to plough a field, or hoe it, But, oh! don't say that I'm—ah word of fear! A Minor Poet.

1890?