‘ A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS’

This pen of mine is simply grand, I never loved a pen so much; This paper ( underneath my hand ) Is really a delight to touch;

And never in my life, I think, Did I make use of finer ink. The subject upon which I write Is ev'rything that I could choose;

I seldom knew my wits more bright, More cosmopolitan my views; Nor ever did my head contain So surplus a supply of brain!