All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues
As yawning waiters fly[1] Fitzscribble's lungs;[2]
Yet on he mouths—ten minutes—tedious each[3][4]
As Prelate's homily, or placeman's speech;810
Long as the last years of a lingering lease,
When Riot pauses until Rents increase.
While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays
O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways,
If by some chance he walks into a well,
And shouts for succour with stentorian yell,
"A rope! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace!"
Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace;
For there his carcass he might freely fling,[5]
From frenzy, or the humour of the thing.820
Though this has happened to more Bards than one;
I'll tell you Budgell's story,—and have done.
Budgell, a rogue and rhymester, for no good,
- ↑ And the "waiters" are the only fortunate people who can "fly" from them; all the rest, viz. the sad subscribers to the "Literary Fund," being compelled, by courtesy, to sit out the recitation without a hope of exclaiming, "Sic" (that is, by choking Fitz. with bad wine, or worse poetry) "me servavit Apollo!" [See English Bards, line 1 and note 3.]
- ↑ On pain of suffering from their pen or tongues.—[MS. M. erased.]
fly Fitzgerald's lungs.—[MS. M.] - ↑
Ah when Bards mouth! how sympathetic Time
Stagnates, and Hours stand still to hear their rhyme.—[MS. M. erased.] - ↑ [Lines 813-816 not in MS. L. (a) or MS. L. (b).]
- ↑
Besides how know ye? that he did not fling
Himself there—for the humour of the thing.—[MS. M.]
