document.write("P.     Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu\\\'d, I said,<br />Tie up the knocker, say I\\\'m sick, I\\\'m dead.<br />The Dog-star rages! nay\\\'t is past a doubt,<br />All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:<br />Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,                        <br />They rave, recite, and madden round the land.<br /><br />What walls can guard me, or what shade can hide?<br />They pierce my thickets, thro\\\' my Grot they glide;<br />By land, by water, they renew the charge;<br />They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.                 <br />No place is sacred, not the Church is free;<br />Ev\\\'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me;<br />Then from the Mint walks forth the Man of rhyme,<br />Happy to catch me just at Dinner-time.<br /><br />Is there a Parson, much bemus\\\'d in beer,                         <br />A maudlin Poetess, a rhyming Peer,<br />A Clerk, foredoom\\\'d his father\\\'s soul to cross,<br />Who pens a Stanza, when he should engross?<br />Is there, who, lock\\\'d from ink and paper, scrawls<br />With desp\\\'rate charcoal round his darken\\\'d walls?                <br />All fly to Twit’nam, and in humble strain<br />Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.<br />Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the Laws,<br />Imputes to me and my damn\\\'d works the cause:<br />Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,                         <br />And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.<br /><br />Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong,<br />The world had wanted many an idle song)<br />What Drop or Nostrum can this plague remove?<br />Or which must end me, a Fool\\\'s wrath or love?                    <br />A dire dilemma! either way I\\\'m sped,<br />If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.<br />Seiz\\\'d and tied down to judge, how wretched I!<br />Who can\\\'t be silent, and who will not lie.<br />To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace,                    <br />And to be grave, exceeds all Pow\\\'r of face.<br />I sit with sad civility, I read<br />With honest anguish, and an aching head;<br />And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,<br />This saving counsel, \\\"Keep your piece nine years.\\\"               <br /><br />\\\"Nine years!\\\" cries he, who high in Drury-lane,<br />Lull\\\'d by soft Zephyrs thro\\\' the broken pane,<br />Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,<br />Oblig\\\'d by hunger, and request of friends:<br />\\\"The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it,               <br />I\\\'m all submission, what you\\\'d have it, make it.\\\"<br /><br />Three things another\\\'s modest wishes bound,<br />My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound.<br /><br />Pitholeon sends to me: \\\"You know his Grace<br />I want a Patron; ask him for a Place.\\\"                           <br />\\\"Pitholeon libell\\\'d me,\\\"-\\\"but here\\\'s a letter<br />Informs you, Sir, \\\'t was when he knew no better.<br />Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine,\\\"<br />\\\"He\\\'ll write a Journal, or he\\\'ll turn Divine.\\\"<br /><br />Bless me! a packet.-\\\"\\\'Tis a stranger sues,                      <br />A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse.\\\"<br />If I dislike it, \\\"Furies, death and rage!\\\"<br />If I approve, \\\"Commend it to the Stage.\\\"<br />There (thank my stars) my whole Commission ends,<br />The Play\\\'rs and I are, luckily, no friends,                      <br />Fir\\\'d that the house reject him, \\\"\\\'Sdeath I\\\'ll print it,<br />And shame the fools-Your Int\\\'rest, Sir, with Lintot!\\\"<br />Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:<br />\\\"Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch.\\\"<br />All my demurs but double his Attacks;                            <br />At last he whispers, \\\"Do; and we go snacks.\\\"<br />Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,<br />Sir, let me see your works and you no more.<br /><br />\\\'Tis sung, when Midas\\\' Ears began to spring,<br />(Midas, a sacred person and a king)                              <br />His very Minister who spy\\\'d them first,<br />(Some say his Queen) was forc\\\'d to speak, or burst.<br />And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case,<br />When ev\\\'ry coxcomb perks them in my face?<br /><br />A.    Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang\\\'rous things.           <br />I\\\'d never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings;<br />Keep close to Ears, and those let asses prick;<br />\\\'Tis nothing-<br />                  P.    Nothing? if they bite and kick?<br />Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass,<br />That secret to each fool, that he\\\'s an Ass:                      <br />The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?)<br />The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I.");