Author. Then my success is certain; I think you'll say so when I draw
the curtain, And, presto! place before your wond'ring eyes A race
of beings that must 'cite surprise; The strangest compound truth and
contradiction Owe to dame Nature, or the pen of Action; Where wit and
folly, pride and modest worth, Go hand in hand, or jostle at a birth;
Where prince, peer, peasant, politician meet, And beard each other in
the public street;
~6~~
Where ancient forms, though still admired, Are phantoms that have long
expired; Where science droops 'fore sovereign folly, And arts are sick
with melancholy; Where knaves gain wealth, and honest fellows, By hunger
pinch'd, blow knav'ry's bellows; Where wonder rises upon wonder--
Friend. Hold! Or you may leave no wonders to be told. Your book, to
sell, must have a subtle plot--Mark the Great Unknown, wily *****
****: Print in America, publish at Milan; There's nothing like this
Scotch-Athenian plan, To hoax the cockney lack-brains.
Author. It shall be: Books, like Madeira, much improve at sea; 'Tis said
it clears them from the mist and smell Of modern Athens, so says sage
Cadell, Whose dismal tales of shipwreck, stress of weather, Sets all
divine _Nonsensia_ mad together; And, when they get the dear-bought
novel home, "They love it for the dangers it has overcome.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38