Reader! I have kept my word,—at least so far

As the first Canto promised. You have now

Had sketches of Love—Tempest—Travel—War,—

All very accurate, you must allow,

And Epic, if plain truth should prove no bar;

For I have drawn much less with a long bow

Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing,

But Phoebus lends me now and then a string,