It cannot be — Whether I will, or no,
Such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow.
Convinc'd, determin'd, I in prose begin,
But e're I write one sentence, Verse creeps in,
And taints me thro' and thro'; by this good light
In Verse I talk by day, I dream by night;
If now and then I curse, my curses chime,
Nor can I pray, unless I pray in rime.
E'en now I err, in spite of Common Sense,
And my Confession doubles my offence.