Lines Sent To Elia,
Elia! thro' irony of hearts the mender,
May this pig prove like thine own pathos—tender.
Bear of thy sageness, in its sage, the zest;
And quaintly crackle, like thy crackling jest.
And—dry without—rich inly—as thy wit,
Be worthy thee—as thou art worthy it.
Beside the sty-born finding room to spare,
Begs kind acceptance of himself—a hare.
And since, being sylvan, he but ill indites,
Hopes he may eat much better than he writes.