The Dame, by this in part relieved The prospect of escape perceived, Rebelled a little at the diet. CARDENIO said discreetly, "Try it, Try it, my Own. You have no choice, What if you lose your charming voice!" She tried, it seems. And whether then Some god stepped in, benign to men; Or Modesty, too long outlawed, Contrived to aid the pious fraud, I know not:--but from that same day She talked in quite a different way. THE NOBLE PATRON. "_Ce sont les amours Qui font les beaux jours._" What is a _Patron_? JOHNSON knew, And well that lifelike portrait drew. _He is a Patron who looks down With careless eye on men who drown; But if they chance to reach the land, Encumbers them with helping hand._ Ah! happy we whose artless rhyme No longer now must creep to climb! Ah! happy we of later days, Who 'scape those _Caudine Forks_ of praise! Whose votive page may dare commend A Brother, or a private Friend! Not so it fared with scribbling man, As POPE says, "under my Queen ANNE." DICK DOVECOT (this was long, be sure, Ere he attained his _Wiltshire_ cure, And settled down, like humbler folks, To cowslip wine and country jokes) Once hoped--as who will not?--for fame, And dreamed of honours and a Name. A fresh-cheek'd lad, he came to Town In homespun hose and russet brown, But armed at point with every view Enforced in RAPIN and BOSSU. Besides a stout portfolio ripe For LINTOT'S or for TONSON'S type. He went the rounds, saw all the sights, Dropped in at _Wills_ and _Tom's_ o' nights; Heard BURNET preach, saw BICKNELL dance, E'en gained from ADDISON a glance; Nay, once, to make his bliss complete, He supp'd with STEELE in _Bury Street_. ('Tis true the feast was half by stealth: PRUE was in bed: they drank her health.) By this his purse was running low, And he must either print or go. He went to TONSON. TONSON said-- Well! TONSON hummed and shook his head; Deplor'd the times; abus'd the Town; But thought--at length--it might go down; With aid, of course, of _Elzevir_, And _Prologue_ to a Prince, or Peer. Dick winced at this, for adulation Was scarce that candid youth's vocation: Nor did he deem his rustic lays Required a _Coronet_ for _Bays_. But there--the choice was that, or none. The Lord was found; the thing was done. With HORACE and with TOOKE'S _Pantheon_, He penn'd his tributary paean; Despatched his gift, nor waited long The meed of his ingenuous song. Ere two days pass'd, a hackney chair Brought a pert spark with languid air, A lace cravat about his throat,-- Brocaded gown,--en _papillotes_. ("My Lord himself," quoth DICK, "at least!" But no, 'twas that "inferior priest," His Lordship's man.) He held a card: My Lord (it said) would see the Bard.