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Farewell!-Farewell !"-A while, his hands he wrung,
E, above the reft
In fhape and gefture proudly eminent,
Of glory obscur'd. As when the fun, new risen,
HUT, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I faid: Tie 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.
WHAT walls can guard me, or what shades can hide ? They pierce my thickets, through 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; Even Sunday fhines no Sabbath-day to me: Then, from the mint, walks forth the man of rhyme, "Happy, to catch me-juft at dinner-time."
FRIEND to my life! (which did not you prolong,
If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead.
With ferious anguish, and an aking head:
This faving counfel" Keep your piece nine years."
"Nine years!" (cries he, who, high in Drury-lane,
The piece. you think, is incorrect. Why, take it. "I'm all fubmiffion: what you'd have it, make it." THREE things, another's modeft wishes boundMy friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon fends to me ;"You know his grace. "I want a patron-ask him for a place." "Pitholeon libell'd me"-" But here's a letter "Informs you, fir, 'twas when he knew no better." BLESS me! a packet!" "Tis a ftranger fues; "A virgin tragedy; an orphan muse." If I diflike it" Furies! death, and rage!" If I approve" Commend it to the ftage." There, thank my stars! my whole commiffion ends: The play'rs, and I, are luckily, no friends. Fir'd, that the house reject bim-"'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 if you, Sir, revife it, and retouch.". All my demurs but double his attacks. At laft, he whispers-" Do, and we go fnacks." Glad of a quarrel, ftraight I clap the door "Sir, let me fee you, and your works, no more.”
You think this cruel ? take it for a rule, No creature fmarts fo little as a fool. Let peals of laughter, Codrus, round thee break, Thou, unconcern'd, can't hear the mighty crack: Pit, box, and gallery, in convulfions hurl'd, Thou ftandft unfhook, amid'ft a bursting world. Who shames a fcribbler? Break one cobweb throughHe spins the flight felf-pleafing thread anew:
Destroy his fib or sophistry-in vain-
ONE dedicates in high heroic profe,
THERE are, who, to my perfon, pay their court: I cough like Horace! and, tho' lean, am short; Ammon's great fon one shoulder had too high; Such Ovid's nofe; and-" Sir, you have an eye-" Go on, obliging creatures; make me fee All that disgrac'd my betters met in me. Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, Juft fo, immortal Maro held his head: And, when I die, be sure you let me know, Great Homer died-three thousand years ago:
HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.
OW many thousands of my poorest subjects
And hufh'd with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
And lull'd with founds of fweetest melody?
HE wind and rain are over. Calm is the noon
are divided heaven.
the green hill, flies the inconftant fun. Red, thro' the ftony vale, comes down the ftream of the hill-Sweet are thy murmurs, O ftream! but more fweet is the voice I hear.It is the voice of Alpin, the fon of fong,