They are quite hopeless - drooling, driveling, doleful, depressing, dropsical drips.
I love a ballad but even too well if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
You hear all this whining going on, 'Where are our great writers?' The thing I might feel doleful about is: 'Where are the readers?'
Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.