The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
128
LETTER VII. FROM MESSRS. L---CK---GT---N AND CO. TO ------, ESQ.
Per Post, Sir, we send your MS.—look'd it thro'—
Very sorry—but can't undertake—'twouldn't do.
Clever work, Sir!—would get up prodigiously well—
Its only defect is—it never would sell.
And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought,
In an Author 'tis not so desirable thought.
Very sorry—but can't undertake—'twouldn't do.
Clever work, Sir!—would get up prodigiously well—
Its only defect is—it never would sell.
And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought,
In an Author 'tis not so desirable thought.
Hard times, Sir,—most books are too dear to be read—
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small-change are fled,
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead,
Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it)
Not even such names as F*tzg*r---d's can sink it!
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small-change are fled,
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead,
Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it)
Not even such names as F*tzg*r---d's can sink it!
129
However, Sir—if you're for trying again,
And at somewhat that's vendible—we are your men.
And at somewhat that's vendible—we are your men.
Since the Chevalier C*rr
took to marrying lately,
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly—
No job, Sir, more easy—your Country once plann'd,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand.
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly—
No job, Sir, more easy—your Country once plann'd,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand.
An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tell—
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well.
Or—supposing you've nothing original in you—
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you,
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia!
(Mind—not to her dinners—a second-hand Muse
Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.)
Or—in case nothing else in this world you can do—
The deuce is in't, Sir, if you cannot review!
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well.
Or—supposing you've nothing original in you—
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you,
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia!
(Mind—not to her dinners—a second-hand Muse
Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.)
130
The deuce is in't, Sir, if you cannot review!
Should you feel any touch of poetical glow,
We've a Scheme to suggest—Mr. Sc*tt, you must know,
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Row ,)
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town;
And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay)
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way.
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him;
Who, by means of quick proofs—no revises—long coaches—
May do a few Villas, before Sc*tt approaches.
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,
He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn-Abbey.
Such, Sir, is our plan—if you're up to the freak,
'Tis a match! and we'll put you in training next week.
At present, no more—in reply to this Letter, a
Line will oblige very much
Yours, et cetera.
We've a Scheme to suggest—Mr. Sc*tt, you must know,
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Row ,)
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town;
And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay)
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way.
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him;
Who, by means of quick proofs—no revises—long coaches—
May do a few Villas, before Sc*tt approaches.
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,
He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn-Abbey.
131
'Tis a match! and we'll put you in training next week.
At present, no more—in reply to this Letter, a
Line will oblige very much
Yours, et cetera.
Temple of the Muses.
From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow-feeling, I suppress the name of the Author, whose rejected manuscript was inclosed in this letter.—See the Appendix.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |