An Orator's Complaint

How many the troubles that wait          On mortals!--especially those          Who endeavour in eloquent prose     To expound their views, and orate.     Did you ever attempt to speak          When you hadn't a word to say?          Did you find that it wouldn't pay,     And subside, feeling dreadfully weak?     Did you ever, when going ahead          In a fervid defence of the Stage,          Get checked in your noble rage     By somehow losing your thread?      Did you ever rise to reply          To a toast (say 'The Volunteers'),          And evoke loud laughter and cheers,     When you didn't exactly know why?     Did you ever wax witty, and when          You had smashed an opponent quite small,          Did he seem not to mind it at all,     But get up and smash you again?     If any or all of these things          Have happened to you (as to me),          I think you'll be found to agree     With yours truly, when sadly he sings:     'How many the troubles that wait          On mortals!--especially those          Who endeavour in eloquent prose     To expound their views, and orate.'