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Three things another's modest wishes bound; “ My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound."
Pitholeon sends to me: “ You know his grace, I want a patron; ask him for a place." Pitholeon libelld me~" But here's a letter Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better. Dare you refuse him? Curl invites to dine, He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine.” Bless me! a packet.-" 'Tis a stranger sues, 55 A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse." If I dislike it, “ Furies, death, and rage!" If I approve, “ Commend it to the stage." There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends, The players and I are, luckily, no friends. Fird that the House rejects him, “ 'Sdeath, I'll
print it, And shame the foolsyour interest, sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue, will think your price too much: “Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch." All my demurs but double his attacks;
65 At last he whispers, “ Do, and we go snacks." Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door; “Sir, let me see your works and you no more."
'Tis sung, when Midas' ears began to spring, (Midas, a sacred person and a king)
70 His very minister who spied them first (Some say his queen) was forc'd to speak or burst. And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case, When every coxcomb perks them in my face? A. Good friend, forbear! you deal in dangerous
things; I'd never naine queens, ministers, or kings; Keep close to ears, and those let asses prick, 'Tis nothing.-P. Nothing! if they bite and kick? . Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass, That secret to each fool, that he's an ass: The truth once told (and wherefore should we lic?) The queen of Midas slept, and so may I.
Yuu think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature sinarts so little as a fool.
Let peals of laughter, Codrus, round thee break, 83
100 Still Sappho.-A. Hold! for God's sake you'il of
fend; No namesbe calm-learn prudence of a friend : I too could write, and I am twice as tali; But foes like these-P. One flatterer's worse than all. Of all mad creatures, if the learn'i are right, 103 It is the slaver kills, and not the bite. A fool quite angry is quite innocent: Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.
One dedicates in high beroic prose, And ridicules beyond a hundred foes:
110 One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend, And, more abusive, calls himself ny friend. This prints my letters, that experts a bribe, And others roar aloud, “ Subscribe, subscribe !"
There are who to iny person pay their court: 115 I cough like IIorace, and, though lean, am short; Aimon's great son one shoulder bad too high, Such Ovid's nose, and, - Sir, you have an eye-" Go on, obliging creatures! make me see All that disgrac'd my betters met in me.
120 Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, “ Just so immortal Maro held his head :"
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Why did I write? what sin to me unknown 125
130 The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife, To help me through this long disease, my life, To second, Arbuthnot, thy art and care, And teach the being you preserv'd to bear.
But why then publish?" Granville, the polite, 135 And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write; Well-natur'd Garth inflam'd with early praise, And Congreve lov'd, and Swift endur'd, my lays; The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield, read, Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head, 140 And St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before) With open arms receiv'd one poet more. Happy my studies, when by these approv'd! Happier their author, when by these belov'd! From these the world will judge of men and books,
145 Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.
Soft were my numbers; who could take offence, While pure description held the place of sense? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme, A painted mistress, or a purling stream, Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; I wish'd the man a dinner, and sat still: Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret; I never answer'd; I was not in debt. If want provok'd, or madness made them print, 155 I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint.
Did some more sober critic come abroad; If wrong I smild, if right I kiss'd the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. 160
Commas and points they set exactly right,
Were others angry; I excus'd them too;
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease; s Should such a mav, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne; Menim Aristoteles More Glomanssiryu alyre
dut posse putaretusifatras drogam utricitatet. Basen. Crus. Scient. 33
View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes,
What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? 216 Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load, On wings of winds came flying all abroad? I sought no homage from the race that write; I kept, like Asian monarchs, from their sight: 220 Poems I heeded (now be-rhym'd so long) No more than thou, great George !" a birth-day
I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days,
295 And a true Pindar stood without a bead)