from 'Address to a Lark'

I'm poor enough, there's plenty knows it ;
Obscure ; how dull, my scribbling shows it :
Then sure 'twas madness to suppose it,
What I was at,
To gain preferment ! there I'll close it :
So mum for that.

Let mine, sweet Bird, then be a warning :
Advice in season don't be scorning,
But wait till Spring's first days are dawning
To glad and cheer thee ;
And then, sweet Minstrel of the morning,
I'd wish to hear thee.