Curse an ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!

O thou, my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the Muse,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the Bard unfitted for the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?

Curse an ungrateful man, that can be pleased
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!

O you, my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the Muse,
With tears I pity your unhappy fate!
Why is the Bard unfitted for the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?