AN
EPISTLE
TO
Dr. ARBUTHNOT.
SHUT, shut the Door, good John! fatigu'd I said,
Tye up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead,
The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, all Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in their Eye, and Papers in their hand, 5
They race, recite, and madden round the land.
Tye up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead,
The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, all Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in their Eye, and Papers in their hand, 5
They race, recite, and madden round the land.
What Walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my Thickets, thro' my Grot they glide,
By land, by water, they renew the charge,
They stop the Chariot, and they board the Barge. 10
They pierce my Thickets, thro' my Grot they glide,
By land, by water, they renew the charge,
They stop the Chariot, and they board the Barge. 10
No
