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TO ENNUI.
vaunt! arch-enemy of fun,
Grim nightmare of the wind;
Which way, great Momus! shall I run,
A refuge safe to find?
My puppy’s dead—Miss Rumor’s breath
Is stopped for lack of news,
And Fitz2 is almost hypped to death,
And Lang2 has got the blues.
I’ve read friend Noah’s book quite through,
Appendix, notes, and all;
I’ve swallowed Lady Morgan’s3 too,
And blundered through De Staël;3
The Edinburgh Review—I’ve seen’t
The last that has been shipped;
I’ve read, in short, all books in print,
And some in manuscript.
