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HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd
Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead,
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 40
VER. 1. Shut, but the door, good John!] John Searl, his old and faithful fervant: whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will.
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, juft at Dinner-time.
Is there a Parfon, much be-mus'd in beer, 15 A maudlin Poetefs, a rhyming Peer,
A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to cross,
Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle fong)
After ver. 20. in the MS.
Is there a Bard in durance? turn them free,
CVER. 29. in the 1ft Ed.
Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curfe?
VER. 13. Mint.] A place to which infolvent debtors retired, to enjoy an illegal protection, which they were there fuffered to afford, one another, from the perfecution of their creditors.
What Drop or Noftrum can this plague remove?
With honest anguish, and an aching head;
VER. 49. Pitholeon] The name taken from a foolish Poet of Rhodes, who pretended much to Greek. Schol. in Horat. I. 1. Dr. Bentley pretends, that this Pitholeon libelled Cæfar alfo. See notes on Hor. Sat. 10. 1, i,
"Dare you refufe him? Curl invites to dine, "He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine." Blefs me! a packet." "Tis a ftranger fues, 55 "A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Mufe." If I diflike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve," Commend it to the Stage." There (thank my ftars) my whole commiffion ends, The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the house reject him, "'Sdeath I'll print it, "And fhame the fools-Your int'reft, 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; At last he whispers, "Do; and we go fnacks." Glad of a quarrel, ftrait I clap the door, Sir, let me fee your works and you no more. "Tis fung, when Midas' Ears began to spring, (Midas, a facred person and a King)
His very Minister who spy'd them first, (Some fay his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burft.
VER. 53. in the MS.
If you refufe, he goes, as fates incliné,
To plague Sir Robert, or to turn Divine.
VER. 60. in the former Ed.
Cibber and I are luckily no friends,
VIR. 72. Queen] The story is told, by fome, of his Barber, but by Chaucer of his Queen. See Wife of Bath's Tale in Dryden's Fables.
And is not mine, my friend, a forer cafe,
Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break, 85
The creature's at his dirty work again,
VER. 80. That fecret to each fool, that he's an Afs:] i, e. that his ears (his marks of folly) are visiblę.
VER. 88. Alluding to Horace,
Si fractus illabatur orbis,
VER. 92. The creature's at his dirty work again,] This metamorphofing, as it were, the Scribler into a Spider is much more poetical than a comparison would have been. But Poets fhould be cautious how they employ this figure; for where the likeness is not very striking, inftead of giving force, they become obfcure. Here, every thing concurs to make them run into one another.