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Shut, shut theDoor, good Sohn.fatigud Isaid Tye up the Knocker, say I'm sick. Im dead.

, '

pito Arbuthnot.

And now the Poem, which holds so much of the DRAMA; and opens with all the disorder and vexation that every kind of impertinence and flander could occafion, concludes with the utmost calmness and ferenity, in the retired enjoyment of all the tender offices of FRIENDSHIP and Piety [388, to the end. I

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HUT, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd

I said,
Tye up the knocker, say I'm fick, I'm dead,
The Dog-star rages ! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnafsus, is let out:
Fire in each

in each hand, 5 They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

and papers

NOTES. VER. I. Shut, shut the door, good John !) John Searl, his old and faithful servant: whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce mythickets, thro’my Grot they glide,
By land, by water, they renew the charge,
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10
No place is sacred, 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 Parfon, much be-mus'd in beer, is
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 21
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.

After ý 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

NOTES. 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 insolvent debtors retired, to enjoy an illegal protection, which they were there suffered to afford one another, from the persecution of their creditors.


Arthur, whose giddy fon 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 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, 3.5 And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of face. I sit 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 panzas.

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

Ibid. an aching head ;] Alluding to the disorder he was then só 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-lanes Lull’d 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 sends 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. • Dare you 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 cre he wakes,] A pleafant allusion to thofe words of Milton,

Dictates to me slumb’ring, or inspires Easy my unpremeditated Verse. VER. 49. Pitholeon] The name taken from a foolish Poet of Rhodes, who pretended much to Greek. Schol in Horat. l. i. Dr. Bentley pretends, that this Pitholeonlibelled Cæsar also. See notes on Hor. Sat, 10, 1. i.



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