P. SHUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd I faid, Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead. The dog-ftar rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. 10 What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, thro' my grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They ftop the chariot, and they board the barge. No place is facred, not the church is free, Ev'n Sunday fhines no Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, just at dinner-time, Is there a parfon, much bemus'd in beer, A clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to cross, 15 20 All fly to TWIT'NAM, and in humble strain 25 Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, Or which muft end me, a fool's wrath or love? 30 If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. With honeft anguish, and an aching head; And drop at laft, but in unwilling ears, 35 This faving counfel, "Keep your piece nine years." 40 Nine years! cries he, who high in Drury-lane, Lull'd by foft zephyrs thro' the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends: "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it, 45 "I'm all fubmiffion, what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modeft wishes bound, My friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon fends to me: "You know his grace, "I want a patron; ask him for a place." 50 5.5 "A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Mufe." If I diflike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve," Commend it to the ftage." There (thank my ftars) my whole commiffion ends, 60 65 And shame 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 laft 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 fpring, (Midas, a facred person and a king) His very minifter who spy'd 'em first, (Some fay his queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst. And is not mine, my friend, a forer cafe, When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face? 70 A. Good friend forbear! you deal in dang❜rous things, I'd never name queens, minifters, or kings; 'Tis nothing-P. Nothing if they bite and kick ? 76 80 The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie ?) No creature fmarts fo little as a fool. Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break, 85 90 Whom have I hurt? has poet yet, or peer, 95 And |