WHEN criticasters of a day
Seem to have sneered me quite away;
When with a pontiff's frown
Some dabbler puts me down;
When up from out the nursery start
Sages to teach me mine own art—
Guides in that field my share
Ploughed long before they were,
When gusts of fashion brief as vain
Sow wide a tasteless taste inane,
When Folly, night and morn,
Scatters on me her scorn;
When they who could bestow, refuse
With deathless spite the admitted dues;
When slanderous lips aver
I am the slanderer,
Then, draining mine appointed cup.
In patience do I gird me up.
Knowing that Time, one day.
All his arrears will pay.