“And the pen is my terror. the pencil my shame
All my Talents I bury, and Dead is my Fame
I am either too low or too highly prizd
When Elate I am Envy'd, When Meek I'm despisd
My person degrade & my temper chastise
Then my verse I dishonour. My pictures despise
Then I'm silent & passive & lose every Friend
When I look each one starts! when I speak I offend
Why was I not born like the rest of my race
O why was I born with a different face”
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