The speaker sketches a small, aimless life in a few quick strokes. He wanders in common fields, barely gets anywhere ("journey one inch"), and stays in church until dark. Then comes the drinking: two bottles of wine, a rose, and no wit to go with them. The title suggests he is talking about his own poetry, and the poem reads like a shrug at it. His verses are "pitiful," good only for a laugh, and he seems to accept that.
What stands out is the tone. He isn't wallowing. There is self-mockery here, but also a loose, wry comfort in it. "My folly has friends, I note" hints that he isn't alone in his foolishness, and that company softens the embarrassment. The final line, "I play the fool," is blunt and almost cheerful, as if he has decided to own the role. The mood is humble, a little melancholy, and quietly amused.