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What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, thro'


Grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10 No place is facred, not the Church is free, Ev'n Sunday shines 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 Parson, much be-mus'd in beer, 15 A maudlin Poetess, a rhyming Peer, A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, Who pens a Stanza, when he should engross? Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls With desp’rate charcoal round his darken’d walls? All fly to TWIT'NAM, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad yr vain.

After x 20, in the MS.

Is there a Bard in durance ? turn them free,
With all their brandish'd reams they run to me:
Is there a Prentice, having seen two plays,
Who would do something in his Semptress' praise

NOT E s. VER. 12. Ev'n Sunday Shines no Sabbath-day to me.] The beauty of this line arises from the figurative terms of the predicate alluding to the subject. A secret, in elegant expression, which our Author often practised.

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.


Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the Laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause: Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, 25 And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.

Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What Drop or Nostrum can this plague remove? Or'which must end me, a Fool's wrath or love ?30 A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,

, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seiz'd and ty'd down to judge, how wretched I ! Who can't be silent, and who will not lye: To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, 35 And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of face. I fit with fad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head;

Ver. 29. in the ift Ed.

Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curse?
Say, is their anger, or their friendship worse?

VER. 23. Arthur,] Arthur Moore, Esq.

VER. 33. Seiz'd and ty'd down to judge,] Alluding to the scene in the Plain-Dealer, where Oldfox gags, and ties down the Widow, to hear his well-pen'd stanzas.

Ver. 38. honest anguish,] i. e. undissembled.

Ibid. an aching head;} Alluding to the disorder he was then lo constantly afflicted with.

And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

39 This faving counsel, “ Keep your piece nine years.”

Nine years! cries he, who high in Drury-lane, Lulld by soft 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 submission, what you'd have it, make it.”

Three things another's modest 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 Pitholeon libell'd me“ but here's a letter “ Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better. s Dare


refuse him? Curl invites to dine, “ He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine.”

Ver. 53. in the MS.

If you refuse, he goes, as fates incline,
To plague Sir Robert, or to turn Divine.

VER. 43. Rhymes ere he wakes,] A pleasant allusion to those
words of Milton,

Distates to me Numb'ring, or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated Verfe.
VER. 49. Pitholeon] The name taken from a foolish Poet
of Rhodes, who pretended much to Greek. Schol. in Horat. 1. i.
Dr. Bentley pretends, that this Pitholeon libelled Cæfar also.
See notes on Hor. Sat. 10. 1. i.



Bless me! a packet.— "'Tis a stranger sues, 55 A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse.” If I dislike it, “ Furies, death and rage !” I

« Commend it to the Stage.” There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends, The Play’rs and I are, luckily, no friends. 60 Fir'd that the house reject him, “'Sdeath I'll print it, " 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 last he whispers, “ Do; and we go snacks.".
Glad of a quarrel, strait I clap the door,
Sir, let me see

works and

you no more.
'Tis sung, when Midas' Ears began to spring,
(Midas, a sacred person and a King)



VARIATIONS. VER. 60. in the former Edd.

Cibber and I are luckily no friends.

NOTES. VER. 69. 'Tis fung, when Midas' &c.] The Poet means fung by Persius; and the words alluded to are,

Vidi, vidi ipse, Libelle ! Auriculas Afini Mida Rex habet. The transition is fine, but obscure: for he has here imitated the manner of that mysterious writer, as well as taken up his image. Our Author had been hitherto complaining of the folly

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very Minister who spy'd them first,
(Some say his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst.
And is not mine, my friend, a forer case,
When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my

A. Good friend forbear! you deal in dang’rous things.
I'd never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings; 76
Keep close to Ears, and those let afses 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 Afs: 80
The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?)
The Queen of Midas slept, and so may

You think this cruel? take it for a rule,
No creature smarts so little as a fool.
Let peals of laughter, Codrus ! round thee break, 85
Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack:
Pit, box, and gall’ry in convulsions hurld,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.

and importunity of indigent Scriblers; he now insinuates he
suffered as much of both, from Poetasters of Quality.

Ver. 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.

VER. 80. That secret to each fool, that he's an Ass :) i. e.
that his ears (his marks of folly) are visible.
VER. 88. Alluding to Horace,

Si fractus illabatur orbis,
Impavidum ferient ruina.


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