When my sonnet was rejected, I exclaimed, 'Damn the age; I will write for Antiquity!'

Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?

Some cry up Haydn, some Mozart, Just as the whim bites. For my part, I do not care a farthing candle For either of them, nor for Handel.

I came home for ever!